Everything Happens For A Reason
by dcat8888
Summary: Missing Scenes from 'If You Could See What I See'


Everything Happens for a Reason 

by dcat

These characters do not belong to me.

This fic is rated PG, there's lots and lots and lots of angst in it. It's basically a sap-fest that I just needed to get out of my system. So if you're into this sort of thing, you'll enjoy it, if not…I apologize before hand. I promise I will have a crime in the next one I write.

Many thanks to Susan Zodin for the masterful job of beta-proofing this crazy thing. She has the patience of many, many people. I think this was an ugly one to proof, but she blazed right through it. So Susan, thank you!

This basically is a bunch of missing scenes from the episode, If You Could See What I See…..from after the shooting and dumping to right before the final scene in the actual show.

It was quiet, way too quiet...and what was he lying in? It was cold and damp and sort of soft. The darkness of the night surrounded Mark McCormick as he slowly opened his eyes and tried to piece together what was going on. He was on his back, looking up at...what? Trees? Stars? Was that an owl? It couldn't be, could it? He was outside. How did he get here? And where exactly was here? He closed his eyes tightly, then opened them back up and saw exactly the same thing. Remember McCormick, think. What happened? He tried to move and the pain shot through his entire body like a rocket. He let out a groan. He lay as still as he could, hoping that would alleviate the throbbing ache that radiated from head to toe. Then the memories came flooding back. Charlie Clarkson... Price... Falcon...Millie...Hardcastle. He had been shot--that's what had happened. They must have dumped him somewhere in the middle of nowhere. If the bullet didn't kill him, this quiet, desolate place would. He'd die of exposure, or some California bear would eat him for dinner. No, that was wrong--Hardcastle had told him that California bears didn't eat humans, grizzly bears did. Remembering that conversation, he reflected that neither then nor now did it quell his fear. A chill roamed throughout his body. And it was so blasted quiet. He hated the quiet. He tried to shout, but a weak, hoarse voice came out, and the effort made his head hurt. There was one thing about being quiet though--it gave him a chance to think. He wondered what happened to Hardcastle. They were supposed to meet in the pool house. Deep remorse set in. 'HARDCASTLE!" he yelled to the sky. Did Price and Falcon shoot him? Was Milt lying twenty feet away from him in the darkness? "Judge?" he cried out as loudly as he could. There was no answer. He told himself to think, he tried to remember, but he was so tired. He was just so tired. He gave in to sleep.

OOOOO

Wake up, McCormick! Mark took a deep breath, but the effort caused the pain to rip through him again. It was still dark and quiet all around him. With every bit of strength he could push through his vocal cords he quietly asked, "Hardcastle, where are you?" He didn't expect an answer, but maybe if Millie had 'seen' all this happen, she'd be able to help Hardcase find him now. And that was assuming the judge was okay. Hopefully she'd be able to find them both or help someone else find them.

His left hand twitched, and it hurt to concentrate, so he let himself drift off again into a dream.

OOOOO

Across town, Milt tried to keep his emotions in check, but he knew that it was McCormick's blood on the floor of that pool house. He didn't need to be a psychic to know that. He couldn't control the rage he felt as he laid into Falcon. If only the cops hadn't been there to pull him off... McCormick was out there somewhere, bleeding and suffering from Heaven knew what else they'd done to him. He had to find him and he had to hurry. As he made his way over to Millie's apartment he told himself to concentrate on finding the kid. That was the first step, just find him and once that was done, then they'd deal with whatever came next.

OOOOO

Dawn was coming on. McCormick had been zoning in and out of consciousness. He still felt cold and damp, and a shiver ran through him. Now, with daylight coming on, he could tell that he'd been tossed down some sort of embankment like he was some piece of garbage. He listened as a car passed by him on the road above. Then there was nothing but silence all around him again. He lay there awkwardly; his belly stinging as if a knife was twisting inside it, and his right arm throbbing from the neck down. It was extended by his side at an unnatural angle and he thought maybe the shoulder was dislocated. His head ached from the physical pain of his body and his mind was tormented by thoughts of fear and despair. How long had he been down here? How would anyone find him? No one could even see him down in the ditch. Unless Falcon and Price would admit to anything, he might never be found. Hardcastle would blame himself for all of it. That upset Mark most of all. After nearly three years of living with the man, he knew the judge cared deeply about him. Mark probably had seen the first glimpse of it back in the courtroom during the Coyote trial, but he was just too stupid and angry then to understand it. He knew it now, and knew Hardcastle would take his death hard. He had to hang on. Just hang on until Hardcase could find him.

OOOOO

Hardcastle drove the pick-up with determined purpose. Once he had convinced Millie to help him in the search, they had begun to drive down the back roads, looking for the images she had "seen" in her vision. As his hands maneuvered the steering, his mind was focused on memories of Mark. He remembered back to when he first came up with the idea of having an ex-con paroled into his custody. People who he thought were friends scoffed at his mere suggestion. They questioned his reasoning, they questioned his sanity and when the first few projects failed rather miserably, some of those so-called friends even gave up on him. And then McCormick came along and he'd secretly told himself that this would be the last one. If it didn't work, then it wasn't meant to be. One of the first and few people that stood behind Milt was Frank Harper. He supported Hardcastle's somewhat crazy idea that one person could indeed help make a positive change in someone else's life. Over a couple of beers one night, Milt had showed Frank McCormick's file and Harper read it from cover to cover. When he finished and took his last swallow from the bottle, he stood up from his chair and said without any doubt in his mind, "Milt, this is the one. I mean, I think the kid will be a challenge, and there's gonna be some rough spots, but there's something in what I read about him that just tells me that he's your man. This is the one that's gonna work. I say--go for it." Hardcastle would never forget that, mainly because he felt the same thing when he first pulled the folder on McCormick out of his files. He still never had put his finger on what exactly that feeling was, but here it was three years later and it was working. He had to find the kid. It wasn't going to end like this.

OOOOO

The pain was now worse. Looking around, it appeared that he was cushioned by the mulch of dried leaves he was lying in. But McCormick felt anything but rested or relaxed. There wasn't a spot on his body that didn't ache, throb or burn. He remembered being shot, struggling for the gun--to no avail--then the blast. The sound had echoed in his head and he had felt a sharp deep pain rip through his gut. He had crumpled to his knees, then fallen to the ground, passing out almost immediately. He knew the noise from the party would have easily covered up the sound of the gun. No one probably even knew anything happened. Mark felt the wetness of the blood on his left side; his blue dress shirt was soaked. With a weak effort, he managed to pick up his head, and seeing the stain, felt sick to his stomach. He didn't want to think of what kind of other damage the bullet wound had done to his insides. Trying to put some pressure on the wound with his fingers failed...his arms were too weak and hurt to move.

Think, McCormick, think of how to get out of this mess. He should try to get to the top of the hill, to the road. But he knew he wouldn't get far; he didn't have the stamina or the strength. Breathing and trying to stay conscious was what he had to focus on. His only hope was to hold out long enough for someone to find him. That someone, he hoped would be one Judge Milton C. Hardcastle. If anyone could find him, it'd be Hardcase--he wouldn't stop, and he wouldn't accept 'no' as an answer. Mark just had to hold out long enough for Hardcase to get some answers as to his location. He needed to think, but he was so tired, he felt his eyes closing... just for a little rest, he thought, as his vision faded to black.

OOOOO

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep...it was full daylight now... when he heard the sound of a truck engine coming to a stop nearby. He hoped it was the judge. He wanted to smile and call out, but the effort it required was too much for his wounded body to expend. He tried to make out the figure he saw standing at the top of the ditch, but it was just a blur. It had to be Hardcase. He'd be the only one who wouldn't give up hope of finding him and he'd use all means possible. Mark remained conscious now, waiting, though he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes, if only to hold in the tears. Tears of relief, pain and happiness. He didn't know what would happen next, but he knew he wouldn't die alone. Hardcastle had found him.

From the top, it was a scene Milt Hardcastle didn't want to see. He snapped a twig off a nearby pine and tossed it to the ground in anger. They had shot him, just like Millie had envisioned and dumped his body. Damn. He wished beyond hope that Millie had been wrong about this whole thing, but now here it was before him. Why'd he make the kid go? And Millie was right about him losing another son. He hadn't really ever told McCormick how he felt about him, but he knew it was an unspoken shared feeling between the two of them. Why hadn't he listened to her and just stayed at home last night? No piece of garbage in his files was worth seeing the kid lying there. The judge stood at the crest of the hill, looking down. It was McCormick all right. He hoped to God Millie wasn't right about him being dead, but from where he stood, it didn't look good--it looked grim. Milt had to force himself to go down the embankment to see, and he dreaded it beyond anything he'd ever had done in his entire life. Not this kid, not this way...because of him--his need to chase after bad guys and be right all the time. It just wasn't right. Not another son lost, please, God ! This kid was special...he had to survive!.

Millie Denton was right behind him at the top of the incline. She knew it was Mark's body, she'd seen it the same way in the vision she'd had, over and over. She waited anxiously by the truck while Milt made his way down the hill. She hoped she'd be wrong, saying a silent prayer that the young man was still alive. These two men needed each other, even though they didn't outwardly admit to it. She'd seen it in just the short time she worked for them—the way they bickered and laughed together, got up before dawn to work out on the basketball court, and relaxed watching a movie--sharing popcorn and mock wrestling over the remote. There weren't too many biological fathers and sons that were as close as these two.

When he reached Mark's body, Milt noticed the young man's eyes were slightly open, but the kid was so still and pale, it scared the judge. Hardcastle reached down and carefully dragged the back of his fingers along the skin on McCormick's right hand. It was warm, and then he saw Mark take a shallow breath--his chest moving ever so slightly. He still was alive! Thank God, was all Milt could think. He took a breath himself, in relief, and saw McCormick's blue eyes now turned toward him, fluttering open and fixing their gaze upon him. It was as if the kid had waited for this moment. Hardcastle heard the young man's voice, barely above a whisper, ask, "What took you so long?" Then Mark's eyes slowly closed as he gave in to unconsciousness.

Always the smart aleck, Milt thought as he took McCormick's right hand into his own and said, "You hang on there, kiddo...just hang on...you're gonna be all right. We'll get you to the hospital right away. I know you can hear me--you're gonna be okay." He squeezed the kid's hand reassuringly and then let go and quickly made his way back to top of the hill. Hardcastle knew he didn't have anytime to waste—even though Mark was still alive and had spoken to him, the judge knew that the kid was hovering near death. Almost six hours had passed since the shooting, and it looked like most of it had been spent in this cold, damp, dirty place. He had to get the kid to the hospital as soon as possible.

"Is he...?" Millie started to ask as Milt came up.

"He's alive, and he's gonna stay that way," Milt said gruffly. He opened the truck door and took a blanket out from behind the seat, then reached into the truck bed and grabbed an emergency first aid kit. " Millie, I need you to drive back to where Frank Harper is and tell him to call an ambulance and that I need him over here right away. He'll need to check out this crime scene. The keys are in the ignition, tell Frank to hurry. I'm gonna stay with the kid." Millie saw the judge's fear--and his grim determination to resist showing it, and knew better than to question him. She quickly got in the truck and drove off and Milt hurried back down to be with Mark.

Hardcastle raced quickly down the incline, sliding through the mulch to get to his young friend. "McCormick, you still with me here?" he asked, but saw that the kid appeared to be unconscious. He watched for Mark's chest to rise and fall and, seeing him still breathe, continued to talk. "Millie's going for help, and we'll get you to the hospital right away and they'll fix you up good as new." His voice had risen nearly an octave out of fear for McCormick's well being. He mentally chided himself for his outward worry and forced himself to calm down. Opening up the first aid kit, he found a pressure bandage and applied it to the gunshot wound. He remembered seeing some TV show that suggested that unconscious people could still hear, so he decided to keep talking. "There, that might help with the bleeding, and I've got a blanket that I'm going to wrap around you... try to take some of this chill out and warm you up." Hardcastle opened up the blanket and spread it over and around Mark. "Now, let's see, oh yeah, I'm gonna elevate your legs a little, that's supposed to help the shock. I probably should have been here five hours ago doing these things, but every little bit helps, right?" He swallowed hard. "I should have never let you go to that damn party in the first place. I should have listened to Millie. Damn it kiddo...I'm so damn sorry." Hardcastle scooped up some of the leaf mulch that was scattered around and piled it under Mark's legs, raising them up as gently as possible and setting them onto the mound. "Hell, I should have never gotten you involved in any of these cases--having you put your life on the line, just to satisfy my needs for standing up for 'right' and fighting 'wrongs'. I'm sorry for that, kid." What he'd give to hear one of McCormick's smart aleck comments right about now, Milt thought. This kid and quiet were mortal enemies.

Just thinking that must have done the trick, because as Hardcastle looked over at his young friend's bruised and bloodied face and wondered what else he could do or say, McCormick's eyes opened up again and he softly said, "I feel dead, Judge."

"Ah, if you were dead, you wouldn't be feeling anything," Hardcastle groused. Milt almost detected a smile on his friend's lips, but then he heard the jagged inhale of a breath and knew the kid must be fighting against the pain and knew better than to joke too much.

"Hurts everywhere, Judge," Mark managed to exhale.

Hardcastle nodded his understanding, but decided to try to give the kid some encouragement. "Well, that just means your body is already trying to heal. A smart guy like you should know that."

"It's bad," Mark whispered. "I don't…" his soft voice trailed off. McCormick couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud, but he was thinking it. I don't think I can make it. He didn't think he was going to make it, but actually saying it out loud, to this man who'd been friend, father and mentor to him, would be impossible. Mark knew Hardcastle wouldn't want to hear it and wouldn't allow him to say it. The judge knew the kid's inner thoughts without words being spoken; he'd had that ability for the past three years-- they both had. They knew each other that well. Mark slowly closed his eyes as a wave of pain flooded through his body, but he opened them back up and looked right at the judge, hoping that maybe his eyes would say something that he couldn't.

"Oh, whadda you know?" Hardcastle said, pretending grumpiness. "You're not a doctor. All you need is a couple of stitches and a bandage. You've taken harder stuff from our little gorilla-ball sessions. Listen to me, you're going to make it." The jurist knew what the kid was trying to do and say, but he didn't want any part of it--that wasn't his style--and he wasn't about to let McCormick get these crazy thoughts in his head either. Hardcastle never gave up on anything, and he wasn't about to give up on this kid--not after all this time and not over one of these cases. He could see the worry on McCormick's face plain as day. The kid could wear his emotion like a king wears a crown, Milt thought. No, he wasn't giving up now--this kid meant too much to him. If there was any kind of a chance for McCormick to pull through this, Hardcastle was going to make sure it happened. He knew it was a good sign that the kid was conscious, so he kept talking to him. "Millie went for help, so all you have to do is lie here--which you're pretty good at, considering the way your alarm clock seems to be malfunctioning in the mornings. Unless, of course, you want to try walking up the hill with me? I got $20 that says you can do it on your own," he playfully bet, hoping some snappy banter would keep the kid's mind off his situation. Heck, it was working for Milt.

Mark managed a faint smile. The old man was joking...maybe things weren't so dark after all, even though his own body was telling him otherwise. Mark slightly shook his head 'no' and whispered again in a quiet voice, "I got $20..." he paused to get a breath, "...that says I don't even have a pulse right now." That made Hardcastle smile. They'd always been able to share a smart aleck comment, and McCormick had enough strength to play along for now. He knew Hardcastle was avoiding the grim situation. And it did actually give him some comfort. He knew that even in death, the judge would go out the same way he'd lived— staying away from the touchy-feely stuff. He watched his friend closely, wanting to remember it all.

"Listen to me, wise guy--you're conscious and talking—that's a good sign--and help's on the way. It's all over now, and we'll get you patched up just as good as new. You've been through the worst part--it's downhill from here."

McCormick sucked in another painful breath. "Lost a lot of blood...hurts a lot." he said. "They...they shot me." He shuddered and paused to take in another breath.

Hardcastle nodded his understanding, "Yeah, I know they did."

"You get 'em?" Mark asked.

"Yep, we got both of them. Murder for Charlie Clarkson and attempted murder on you. They'll be going away to the house of many doors before you know it." Hardcastle let a quick smile pass over his lips. "All thanks to you, kid."

McCormick knew he didn't do it alone, but he sure appreciated the fact that the judge gave him credit. When Mark closed his eyes again, Milt thought maybe he had slipped back into unconsciousness. "That's a boy--you just rest easy," Hardcastle said, watching his friend, "All you need to concentrate on now, kiddo, is getting well. We'll put the bad guys on hold for awhile." Milt let out a deep breath of his own. He'd put Mark's life in danger too many times to count, but this--this was the worst. McCormick was about two steps from dying. Hardcastle knew the risks to himself with their work, but he was an old man...there wasn't too much of life left for him anyway. This kid didn't deserve this. Mark had worked hard to turn his life around, and Hardcastle was very proud of him for that. The judge wouldn't admit it, but he was probably more worried than McCormick about this situation. The kid looked so close to death, yet peace washed over his face as his muscles relaxed. Hardcastle glanced back up to the top of the hill, hoping he'd see or hear Frank and Millie pulling up. But it was McCormick's voice that got his attention.

"So you're hanging up the cape?" Mark asked.

"Well, only as long as it takes for Tonto to climb back in the saddle and ride again," Hardcastle said, turning back to face the young man. "I can use the break too." He very rarely called the kid 'Tonto", but something told him to use the name now—reminding the kid that they were a "team"—facing things together. Mark wouldn't be alone in this.

Another bout of silence passed between the two men. Hardcastle figured the kid was conserving his energy. He watched as McCormick winced through another wave of pain and sucked in a labored breath. "I gotta change the oil on the truck," Mark started to lift his head as if he was trying to get up.

"Ah, no you don't, sport," the judge said, lightly putting his hand on Mark's chest to hold him down; the kid probably didn't have the strength to rise, anyway. Milt wondered where the thought of an oil change even came from. And then McCormick started talking again.

"The race is Saturday night, I gotta be ready for that. If I don't get your truck done, I won't be ready."

"And you will be, I promise. We'll take care of all of it," Hardcastle said, playing along.

"Why am I lying here?"

Mark was starting to lapse in and out of some sort of delirium. And Hardcastle wasn't one to lie to him. The kid would see right through that, confused or not. "You got shot," Milt said to him.

"Oh yeah, I already raced. I won," he said, smiling. "$20,000," he recalled. "We can do a lot with that money, Judge. I want to do something for you with it."

Milt was touched by the kid's generosity. And he recalled the conversation they'd had in the Coyote back on that other fateful day. He had meant that the kid should maybe save the money for himself--maybe for school or for a place of his own, but the kid had turned the conversation to wanting to contribute to the Hardcastle way of life. Now he was saying he wanted to do something specifically for the judge. Milt was pleased by the comment, but also realized the kid was confused. "Yeah, kid...you won the big race, now you just gotta relax and we'll get you fixed right up. Just rest easy, help will be here soon."

Mark closed the lids over his blue eyes, letting himself remember the race. "You didn't think I could win," he said.

"When did I ever say that? I knew you could win," the judge responded, not necessarily thinking of a car race.

"Well, that was over a year ago," Mark said sorrowfully. "You took a big chance on me, Judge, even before that."

"I like the gamble, the longer the shot, the better--the payoff is sweeter," Hardcastle answered. He was surprised and concerned about the kid's delirium and wondered how much longer he could hold out without proper medical care. Just the little bit of talking McCormick had been doing seemed to zap all his strength from him. His voice was so soft--barely a whisper. "Look, you should probably quit talking so much and save your strength. Help's coming soon," Milt added gruffly.

McCormick looked at his friend, who had turned his gaze away from him and toward the top of the hill. "Judge... I got all the help I need...right here," he began, giving the older man's hand a feeble, but honest squeeze. Hardcastle looked down at him and nodded. It was a moment of quiet understanding between the two of them. Mark's voice got suddenly stronger and he clearly was in charge of his faculties again. He met Hardcastle's eyes and smiled. "Don't worry, Milt...it's okay. Whatever happens, it's okay. You know how I feel... and I know how you feel. We don't have to say any more than that." McCormick started to cough a little and it took him a few moments to settle himself down. During that time, the two men clutched each other's hands all the tighter and stared into the other's eyes. In the nearly three years since these two had hooked up, they still hadn't spent more than a few minutes on the topic of 'why.' Mark never said anything to Hardcase, but he often wondered why the judge did any of this chasing after bad guys, even in his retirement, and even more puzzling--why'd he give this two-time ex-con loser a chance at starting over? They'd broached the subject several times but McCormick had never gotten a complete answer. Was he only a community service project to help make society better by one person? Was the judge just enjoying the challenge of a gamble on a real live long shot? Was Hardcastle trying to replace his son? Did he see something in McCormick that even McCormick hadn't? Mark knew he'd never get the old man to say anything out loud. Hardcastle just didn't put that kind of thing in words, and even McCormick's impending death wouldn't change that. Hardcastle just let his actions do his talking.

"Listen, kiddo--for once in your life, stop talking—okay?" Hardcastle nearly begged. "That smart yap of yours just goes and goes and goes...but, now's not the time."

Mark nodded ever so slightly, and kept his eyes focused on the judge. For a few seconds they held the stare, until Hardcastle had to look away.

The time was now, McCormick needed to hear it and Hardcastle needed to say it. When the judge turned back to look at the kid, Mark's eyes, though barely open, seemed fixed on something else...something far away. He looked almost catatonic. Hardcastle shivered at the thought of his friend dying there. "Hey-- listen to me, kiddo, stay with me here. Let me do all the talking...just stay with me. I'm not letting you die, so you better just pay attention."

McCormick still held the judge's hand and Hardcastle watched him breathe in and out, but he knew if they didn't get him to a hospital right quick, that Mark wouldn't make it.

"Listen, Mark," the judge began, and noticing his use of McCormick's given name, rather than his last or the "pet" slang names he often called him, Mark knew that the jurist was about to say something rare to his usual speeches. McCormick listened intently, turning his head ever so slightly to watch Hardcastle. "You know I love you like you were my own..." the judge paused, bowing his head, then added, "...my own son." He turned away for a moment and closed his eyes to choke back the tears, then faced McCormick again. "I know we were friends and all, but I wanted you to know that you've been like my son too. I'm really proud of you--and not for what I made you, 'cause you did all the work—I'm proud of the good man you've become on your own. I love you, son," he added quietly.

McCormick, still conscious, was listening intently and mustered up enough strength to respond, "Feel same...'bout you."

OOOOO

The ride in the ambulance to the hospital was quiet all the way around. The paramedic monitored Mark's vital signs in silence, while the judge sat on the bench next to McCormick's gurney, continuing to hold his hand. McCormick was unconscious now.

Hardcastle broke the silence, asking the paramedic, "How's he doing?" It was a simple question; given the fact the paramedic had just completed a quick check.

"He's holding his own, sir," the paramedic said, somewhat intimidated by the presence of someone riding along in the ambulance. This was normally not allowed, but Lt. Harper of the police department had all but ordered that this judge be allowed to ride along with the young man. The cop had said he'd take responsibility for any repercussions after the paramedic and his partner had protested. Hearing their argument, Hardcastle, not about to take 'no' for any kind of answer, had pulled Harper aside for a quick but earnest talk, then returned to the ambulance and jumped into the back, taking up the hand of the curly-haired young man. There was no way he was going to be shut out --he was staying with McCormick all the way now. The medics had no idea who they were tangling with in 'Hardcase' Hardcastle...and seeing his grim resolve, finally had given up their resistance and begun the journey back to the city.

"What's that mean--'holding his own'?" Hardcastle groused, obviously not satisfied by the answer.

"His vital signs are stable. They're not exactly normal, but they haven't dropped, so he's hanging on for now." The paramedic immediately regretted having added the last two words to his statement. Hardcastle picked up on it right away. "Listen, sonny--there's no 'for now' in this equation. He's gonna be all right, and I expect you to be positive around not only him, but around any patient that you ride along with, you hear me? None of this 'for now' stuff. You know they can hear you?"

"Yes, sir, but I was just trying to be realistic...surely you can see how serious this is?" Unfortunately for himself, the paramedic was digging himself deeper with his words.

Hardcastle gave McCormick a quick look and could see the dire circumstances he was in. "We don't need your realism--we need whatever care you can provide. Keep your personal comments and your diagnosis to yourself."

This time the paramedic didn't say anything, he just nodded.

Hardcastle leaned down to McCormick's ear and whispered. "You're holding your own, kiddo... you just keep on doing that--just hold on."

OOOOO

The next stop was the trauma room of St. Mary's Hospital, and this time no one was going to let Hardcastle into the room. It didn't matter who he was, and as much as he wanted to be with the kid, he understood that the doctors and nurses had a job to do and he'd just be in the way now. Instead, he paced outside the door, peering in its tiny window frequently.

Nearly a half hour later, one of the ER physicians came out. He'd been told that Hardcastle was waiting for word on the patient and immediately saw the deep concern on the older man's face. "I'm Dr. Harmon," he said, extending a hand.

The judge took his hand and shook it. "Milt Hardcastle. I'm Mark's legal guardian." He was in no mood to have to explain the relationship right now, and he could easily make a case for guardianship if he had to. He just wanted to know how Mark was doing.

The doctor nodded his understanding. "Well, Mr. Hardcastle, Mark's in critical condition right now. His situation is very grave. We've stabilized him enough to take him up to surgery, because as you probably realize, the gunshot wound is our biggest concern. He's lost a great deal of blood, and from what we can tell right now, the bullet played a little pinball inside his abdomen. We'll get a better look once we open him up as to the extent of the internal damage." The doctor paused and Hardcastle nodded his understanding. "I also was informed that he was tossed down a hill?" Harmon asked.

"That's how it appeared, yes." Hardcastle explained. "The police are still investigating."

"Well, from our initial assessment of his other injuries, it looks like he has a dislocated right shoulder, a broken collarbone and a probable concussion. I don't think he's got any other broken bones--though we're going to get some more films of his right leg; there's some unusual swelling there right now. Those are the most critical things right now."

"Listen, Doctor--whatever he needs, I mean anything--I want him to have the best," the judge said. "Doctors, medicine, specialists, tests, whatever—please, just give him the best."

The doctor smiled, "I understand, and we're doing all we can for him." He paused , then asked, "Are there any other questions you have right now, Mr. Hardcastle?"

Hardcastle paused and took a deep breath. "What are his chances, Doc?" Hardcastle asked, afraid to hear the answer.

Without hesitation Dr. Harmon responded, "50/50—we'll do what we can, but the rest will be up to him. The bullet wound and the exposure hasn't helped him, but he's young and strong, so it balances out."

"50/50...well, the kid likes those kinds of odds," Hardcastle gave a little smile. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"I'll have one of the nurses take you up to the surgical waiting room," the doctor said, turning back to the check-in desk.

OOOOO

The surgical waiting room was quietly noisy. Hardcastle hated it. Even though it was a muted sound, he hated the beeps and clicks and alarms. There was also the chemical smell of disinfectant, which stung the nostrils. He hated waiting, and he hated not having any answers to the myriad of questions he had. He hated not being able to do something. The nurses talked in hushed whispers and the loved ones were filled with silent prayers. The whole atmosphere felt like being in a silent emotional maelstrom of helplessness and fear. He felt trapped and out of control.

The kid had been under the knife for nearly six hours. Part of the time Frank Harper and Millie had been with him in the waiting room, but now he was waiting alone. Both Millie and Frank wanted to suggest to Milt to go home and get some rest, but they knew how he'd react--there would be no way he'd be leaving the hospital anytime soon. He had managed to doze a little in his chair but couldn't get much relief from his worrying mind. Now, as the surgeon approached him, Hardcastle stood up quickly and literally braced himself against the wall of the waiting room, waiting to hear the news.

"Mr. Hardcastle, I'm Dr. Ashe," the surgeon introduced himself, then continued, "Mr. McCormick sustained a great deal of internal hemorrhaging, as the bullet sort of ricocheted around in his abdomen. The liver, spleen, stomach, small intestine and colon were nicked, but we got everything sewed up. I've got him on some heavy duty antibiotics right now to fight against probable infection."

Hardcastle sat down in the nearest chair as Dr. Ashe continued on with some medical jargon. What stuck in the jurist's head was that Mark was still alive. And to the judge that had to be good. Nearly a miracle of sorts. "So...he's going to be okay, then?" Hardcastle asked, allowing himself to take a deep breath and give a quiet prayer of thanks.

The surgeon continued with some hesitancy, not confirming anything. "The next 24 hours are critical; we'll keep a very close eye on him. He's not out of the woods yet, Mr. Hardcastle. I don't want to mislead you. The gunshot wound was one of the worst I've ever seen, close range obviously, and it did so much internal damage. If he pulls through, his recovery will take a long time. He's got a lot to overcome; it's not going to be easy," Dr. Ashe could tell Hardcastle wasn't really listening, obviously right now he was merely relieved that McCormick was still alive. There would be time later to get into the specifics of his injuries. "You should get some rest yourself--he'll be out of it for awhile."

Hardcastle nodded his understanding. "Just the same, Doc, I'd really rather stay with him if that's possible. I don't want him to be alone. I understand what you're saying... he still could die...but I want to be with him. Can I stay?" Hardcastle felt like he needed to make sure that the doctor understood his position. He just couldn't let the kid be alone right now.

Dr. Ashe took a deep breath, Hardcastle wasn't asking something unusual, though very rarely done. Loved ones weren't always prepared for what they'd see in the ICU recovery room, and it really didn't serve a good purpose for the patient either, since they normally were unconscious. It gave better rest to both sides if they took the time separately to begin to recover from the shock and pain of the injury...or to begin to say goodbye. But Dr. Ashe sensed that this gentleman would be able to handle whatever would happen, and he understood there was a true psychological need for him to be with McCormick...and maybe vice-versa as well. He'd seen and heard of patients pulling through dire situations because a loved one was nearby, providing some sort of spiritual strength. With some reluctance, he finally exhaled and said, "I'll have it arranged. Just give us a few minutes." He shook the judge's hand and walked off to call the unit.

Hardcastle tried to take a deep breath, but it didn't work to ease his tension. Since he was alone in the waiting room, he couldn't help but say out loud, "Kiddo, you're gonna drive me to an early grave. I'd give anything to trade spots with you right now...you shouldn't have to go through this; you got your whole life ahead of you." He paused and added, "You gotta be okay; you just gotta be." Milt closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but they came anyway.

OOOOO

About twenty minutes later, a nurse came in and led Hardcastle into the ICU recovery room. There were eight individual 'cubicles,' four on each side of a sterile hallway. He saw that three of the rooms were occupied and then came to the last room on the left side. The nurse pushed the sliding glass door open and allowed Milt to go in. She whispered to him, "Dr. Ashe ordered a special chair to be brought in for you; he said you wanted to stay with Mark. We'll try to make both of you as comfortable as possible. You can both get some much needed rest."

The judge managed to nod and give her a faint hint of a smile, though he wasn't really listening. His eyes were drawn to McCormick. God, it barely looked like the kid--except for the curly mop of hair, his face was pale and drawn. Hardcastle swallowed hard--even bracing himself for the worst hadn't helped him face this moment.

He went over to the side of the bed and tried to rein in all the emotions and thoughts he was having. His heart felt a huge boulder of responsibility for what had happened to Mark crushing it. Millie had been right about all of it—she'd "seen" the attack and the result and warned them, but Milt'd chosen to ignore her and 'forced' the kid by verbal belittlement to work the case. His guilt was overwhelming. He should be the one to suffer...not McCormick.

He leaned over the bed and pushed the kid's hair off his forehead, something he'd never done before. It felt very fatherly and altogether right at this moment. "I'm so sorry, kid. I should have never let it come to this. I'm sorry for getting you mixed up in any of this--all of it, all of these years. I don't know what I was thinking. I'm just a selfish old man--just thinking of myself." He felt tears start to run down his cheeks. "Kiddo, I never told you this before, but I let you into my heart, into a place I thought was closed off. I should have told you. Don't let it be too late, please," Milt gently patted the top of McCormick's head in another fatherly caress. He leaned down even farther and whispered into his ear, "I love you, kiddo, just know that. I love you."

He made his way over to the chair that had been brought in for him. The nurse came back in the room, but he never heard a word she said, just nodded absently in response. He was focused on McCormick. Hardcastle felt like he was holding his breath for a long time and his own heart ached at what he saw. He felt a heaviness in his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to clear the image of Mark lying so still, only to find out when he opened them again that the nightmare was still there. Reaching out his hand, he put it through the bed rails and laid it softly on top of Mark's. It wasn't much, but he hoped even this small touch would help.

The kid had been to hell--actually he was still there. Tubes and wires were everywhere, going in every direction. A ventilator was helping him breathe through a tracheal tube, EKG leads were taped to his chest, and IV fluids and blood transfusion bags hung on both sides of the bed, dripping into him, while other stuff was being drained out of him. Machines blipped in the background, their red, amber and green lights flashing. Numbers and waveforms showed on the cardiac monitor measuring his pulse, heart rhythm, blood pressure, and oxygen absorption. A bandage was wrapped around his midsection and his right arm was immobilized. His right leg was propped up on a pillow in a splint device. Hardcastle was overwhelmed by the number of things attached to the kid and realized with a chill that if it wasn't for all these mechanical, technical gizmos, McCormick might not be alive right now. Despite the scariness of the machinery, it was the stillness and unbearable quiet resonating from Mark that bothered him the most. Heck, even when the kid slept back at Gulls Way, he would snore, and when he was awake, he was never quiet. This unbearable, heart-breaking silence now was just not right. It wasn't a tranquil stillness that engulfed McCormick, it was one of death knocking at the door.

Hardcastle bent his head down toward the kid's ear and whispered, "Listen, kiddo, you made it...you're in Recovery. Just like I told you--you're going to be all right now." Hardcastle pulled back and looked at Mark's face. The kid needed a shave. He wanted him so badly to answer, to open up those blue eyes of his, and most of all to give him a smart-aleck comment and that McCormick grin which always tickled Milt, though he often tried to hide the reaction. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, wishing fervently for a miracle and wondering what would happen next.

OOOOO

Several hours later two nurses came into the room, along with the anesthesiologist and after checking his vital signs, determined that Mark could come off the ventilator and switch over to a face mask for oxygen. Milt stepped into the hallway while they completed the procedure and when it was over, he was allowed back into the room. The constant clatter from the respirator was gone, and it was one time Milt actually welcomed the silence. It was another step in the right direction. Mark's face looked softer now, more peaceful and he hoped the kid was making another turn for the better.

His hand went immediately back through the rails of the hospital bed to rest on top of Mark's, and this time he reached up with his other hand and gently patted the kid's face, running his fingers tenderly through the curly hair, pushing it out of the young man's eyes and off his forehead once again. Somewhere he remembered reading that human touch was just as good as talking to someone who was unconscious. "Hang in there, kiddo...just keep hanging on." Hardcastle sat back a little in the chair and got lost in the memories of the last three years.

OOOOO

The day flowed from late afternoon into evening then to late in the night, and the kid still hadn't started coming around. Hardcastle thought that was kind of unusual, so he got up from the chair and went down the hall toward the nursing station. "Excuse me...?" he politely asked the nurse who was sitting behind the high counter. Her nametag read "Debbie Tucker".

"Yes, Mr. Hardcastle?" she said politely. "Is something wrong with Mr. McCormick?" She glanced down at the remote monitors and everything appeared to be in order in his room.

"I was just wondering how long, well, till he... uh...starts to come around. I mean shouldn't the anesthesia be wearing off?"

Debbie gave him a smile. "It's different with everyone, Mr. Hardcastle, and because he was in surgery so long, it might take Mr. McCormick a little longer. Don't worry, all his post-operative signs are good."

Hardcastle nodded his understanding. "He's a pretty out-going guy; it's just odd to see him, well, so quiet."

The nurse smiled warmly. "Maybe you should go home for awhile, I think you both need the rest. Right now that's the best medicine of all."

Hardcastle shook his head. "No, I need to stay here, and be here with him when he wakes up. I don't want him to be alone." He paused and added, "Thanks," and then walked back to the room.

OOOOO

The long night continued and Hardcastle found himself dozing on and off. He was glad that the doctor had allowed the rather comfortable chair to be brought into Mark's room for him. He'd never admit to being tired, but the cat-naps he was able to steal through the night sure were helping in relieving some of his fatigue. Each time he awoke he'd look over to his friend. No change. McCormick hadn't moved a muscle.

It was nearing 5 am, when an alarm started going off on the other side of the bed. Hardcastle woke quickly from the nap he was taking and stood up immediately, wanting to do something...anything. He glanced down at McCormick and he looked just the same and was still breathing, but then again, the judge wasn't a doctor--he didn't even know what the alarm was for.

It only took a few seconds for Debbie and another nurse to come running into the cubicle. Milt backed out of their way, but stayed in the room to see what was going on. Debbie immediately went to shut the alarm off and looked over to Milt, giving him a bit of a smile when she saw his apprehensive expression. She started to take Mark's blood pressure, while the other nurse quickly went about checking the other monitors, the IV machine, and Mark as well.

"What is the matter?" Milt asked with concern.

"The heart monitor alarmed," she answered.

"What's wrong with his heart?" Milt exclaimed. "The doctor didn't say anything about that."

"Mr. Hardcastle, keep calm. We're just monitoring everything--it's standard procedure."

Debbie took off her stethoscope and said in a low tone to her colleague, "Better call in Dr. Ashe, and get Dr. Jonas in here right now, his blood pressure is dangerously low."

"Let's take another reading first just to check it." They proceeded to do so and came up with the same result. The second nurse went to make the calls, while Debbie talked to Hardcastle.

"His blood pressure has dropped very quickly and it's in the critical area right now, so we're calling the on-call surgeon and Dr. Ashe. Maybe you should wait in the waiting room for awhile, until the doctors have had time to assess him."

Hardcastle shook his head. "No, I want to stay with him till the doctors decide what to do; he's not going to be alone. I don't want him to be alone."

Debbie went back to McCormick and reset the monitor that had gone off, just as the other nurse came back into the room with what looked to be another bag of blood. "Dr. Jonas will be right here, but he said to run in another unit in the meantime," she stated.

"Does he need blood?" Milt asked, still standing off to the side, "because we've got the same type, A Positive. We've both given each other blood before," he added.

"That's not necessary right now, sir--we've got some from the blood bank, but you can donate some later if there's a need," the second nurse said.

Just then, a young man looking to be in his 20's came in. "This is Mr. McCormick?" he asked the nurses. They both nodded. The doctor had been told by the day staff at report that there were some special reasons why Dr. Ashe had permitted the judge to stay with the patient, and he didn't have the time to question the situation. He nodded toward the other man and said, "Mr. Hardcastle, I'm Dr. Jonas, the on-call resident. Let me check out the patient."

He took a look at the notes on the chart and listened with his stethoscope to Mark's chest and abdomen. When he palpated the area near the belly wound, he frowned and asked Debbie, "Is there any blood in the catheter bag?"

Taking a small sample of urine from the bag, she tested it with a chemical detection "dipstick". She shook her head and answered, "No, not really, just a trace...nothing that would indicate such a drop in pressure."

Suddenly, the heart monitor went off again. "Get another bag of blood going in the other arm, too--start squeezing it in," Jonas ordered "Call CT and tell them we have someone we're bringing up pronto for an abdominal."

After the call was made, the surgeon motioned to the nurses to roll the bed out, and turned to Hardcastle saying, "It's critical we get him upstairs for a CT right now. We need to find out why his blood pressure is dropping. I think he's got some internal bleeding, but we need a picture. I promise I will come back and talk with you just as soon as I can."

Hardcastle nodded his approval and the medical team wheeled McCormick out of ICU and took him to Radiology. When they had cleared out, Milt sank down in the chair and put his head in his hands and waited, hoping that McCormick would pull through this latest setback.

OOOOO

Not quite an hour later, Dr. Ashe and Dr. Jonas both walked into the ICU unit. When Milt saw them coming toward him, his mind was flooded with bad forebodings. He started shaking his head, not wanting to hear what they had to say.

Dr. Ashe put his hand up reassuringly to ward off the judge's fears, "He's all right, Mr. Hardcastle," he said as the two doctors came closer. "We're just stabilizing him right now. He's being prepared in pre-op--we need to go back in. He's still bleeding internally."

Hardcastle let out a deep sigh and scratched his head. "I can't believe this," he muttered. "You told me this morning that he had a 50/50 chance, and now you want to go and cut him open again? Can he take that-- two surgeries in one day? And what will his chances be to survive this?"

Dr. Ashe listened carefully and empathetically to the judge, then replied, "Mr. Hardcastle, I don't know. I wouldn't tell you lies about a thing like this, but I just can't give you odds. We'll do our best to fix the problem. The only definite thing I know is that we have to do it right now; he doesn't have time for you to think about it."

Hardcastle scowled at the turn of events but realized there was nothing to do but let the surgeons do their work. "You'd better get to it then."

OOOOO

It was several more hours of waiting for Milt. He was losing track of what day and time it was. Frank and Millie both stopped by again and he told them what he knew, which wasn't much. They stayed with him for a little while, bought him a meal in the cafeteria, and were sent home--Milt saying there was no reason they all had to stay. He was not leaving till he knew how Mark was. They tried to argue, but they knew it would be to no avail.

Then Mark was back in the ICU, and it was the same thing over again. McCormick lying there unconscious and still too quiet. Milt snaked his hand inside the railings of the bed and laid it softly on top of Mark's and remembered past times:

"You ain't heard nothing yet, Kemosabe."

"You're a donkey."

"You did get me something, didn't you?"

"I really want this one, Milt."

"You called him out? You're really something, Milt."

"I didn't know you had a son."

"You were worried about me?"

"What's worse than being dead?"

He heard the kid's voice inside his own head, over and over. Mark was wrong though...he had two sons. He had already lost one--and he wasn't going to lose another. He had been dozing when something jolted him awake several hours later. He looked over at McCormick who still had his eyes closed. Hardcastle shifted his gaze and as he did, he felt the sensation again. Mark was moving his left hand under the judge's grasp and slowly turned Hardcastle's palm over face up, softly letting his fingers curl around Milt's hand in a faint squeeze. Milt grinned and returned it. "That's a boy...just keep fighting." He could have sworn he saw McCormick's eyes flutter open, if only for a brief second, but he couldn't tell for sure. "Get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up," the judge said as he reached in his other hand and clasped them both around Mark's.

OOOOO

The next day came, with no real change aside from Mark showing some signs of improvement in all his vital signs. Dr. Ashe wanted to take him down for another test to make sure all the internal bleeding had been repaired successfully. So while Mark was having the test, Hardcastle met Millie down in the cafeteria for some food. The housekeeper told him that she was going to be leaving soon to go to San Antonio to live with her sister, but agreed when Milt asked if she'd stay till Mark got out of the hospital.

He got back to the ICU about 11am. A nurse was at the outside desk doing some paperwork. "Hello, Mr. Hardcastle. They just brought Mark back up," she paused, seeing his concern, then added reassuringly, "and everything looked fine. Dr. Ashe is very pleased with the progress. It took a little longer than expected because they decided to set his shoulder too. They're just getting Mark settled back in now--you can go on back there."

Milt took a deep breath as he walked back toward Mark's room. He braced himself once again to see his gregarious friend, still and quiet. Two nurses were inside, hooking up different monitors and checking his vital signs once again. Hardcastle noticed that they had propped up Mark a little bit, and raised up the head of the bed so that he wasn't lying flat any longer. Milt was a bit surprised, but he took it as a good sign. They worked with such care around the young man that Milt really almost hated to interrupt them as they went about their business. He watched through the glass door for a minute and then, taking a deep breath, decided to go inside.

"How's he doing?" Hardcastle asked from the doorway.

"Very good, Judge," one said. Her name was Maria. "He's conscious--just starting to wake up. Why don't you come over and say hello?" she said with a smile. "I know you've been wanting to."

"Conscious?" Milt repeated in wonder.

Both nurses nodded at him, smiling. "Yep, he started coming to during the test," Maria said. "He hasn't said anything yet--I think he's conserving his strength, and that's a very good idea," she added, looking down at Mark. "We can do all the talking for him, for now." She patted McCormick's arm.

"And the test went just fine--no more bleeding. Dr. Ashe thinks he's turned the corner," the other nurse, Amanda, said. "I think he's heading down the home stretch."

"So, he's going to be all right?" Milt walked in closer to the bed.

"We think so," Amanda said. "He's a real fighter. But that being said, try not to let him talk--he does need rest. That's still the best thing for him right now." She looked down sympathetically and said to Mark, "I know that shoulder is a bit uncomfortable, but we've got to keep it immobilized for it to heal properly, so don't move around a lot."

Hardcastle nodded and walked over to the bed as Amanda and Maria walked out of the room to give them some time alone. Milt stepped up to the bedrails and looked down at Mark. Besides having the IV's, blood and monitors hooked up to him, he now had a nasal cannula for oxygen. McCormick must have sensed he was near, because he opened his tired eyes and tried to look up at him. Even being propped up, he was having a hard time seeing Hardcastle. Milt noted how pale and pasty and how exhausted Mark looked. The kid didn't look like he could talk even if he wanted to. He was conscious, but he still looked like death warmed over. Granted he'd been raised up in the bed, but any bit of exertion, probably even breathing itself looked like it took every bit of strength he had. Hardcastle reached over the bed railing and patted McCormick's hand.

"Hi there, kiddo--welcome back," he said, not a touch of his usual gruffness in his voice. "You gave me a scare." In an unusual burst of emotion and out of normal character, Milt took his hand from Mark's and laid it on the kid's forehead and then ran it warmly down his cheek. Something deep inside him just told him it was something he needed to do for the kid.

McCormick closed his eyes and drank in the affection. It wasn't something Hardcastle had ever done before, and the young man was genuinely and deeply touched by it. In that short moment he felt that nothing else in his life would ever mean as much to him. Milt noticed the serene look that passed over the kid's face. When McCormick opened his eyes back up, he tried to form a smile, but even that took more effort than he had. His eyes locked onto the judge's, though, and they both understood the same unwritten message.

"They think you've been through the worst of it now." Milt stood up straight and sniffed away his emotion. McCormick strained to focus on the judge and motioned with his eyes for Hardcastle to sit down in the chair so he could see him better. "The doc says you're going to fully recover, and we'll get you home just as soon as we can." Hardcastle felt like he needed to continue to talk to the kid and reassure him that he was going to make it.

Mark gave another eye motion to the chair.

"You want me to sit down, huh?" Milt asked giving the smallest hint of a smile. He graciously obliged and did so. "You must be feeling better, you're dolling out orders already." As much as he wanted to hear McCormick's smart aleck response, he was glad the kid didn't try to make the effort. Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath and then opened them up again to see Hardcastle still sitting nearby.

"I'm still here," Milt gave his hand a soft squeeze. "You're gonna be all right; the doctors and nurses are all saying so. Just sleep now--just rest. I'll be here when you wake up--I promise." McCormick closed his eyes again and the judge thought he'd gone to sleep. He turned his head to watch the monitors, and when he looked again at McCormick, he saw the familiar blue eyes were staring at him. "Hey, you're supposed to be getting some sleep. You're really stubborn, you know that, don't ya?" He watched McCormick nod ever so slightly.

McCormick's eyes sort of scanned up and down his own body. It wasn't hard for Hardcastle to figure out what he was trying to say. "You still have everything you came in with...well, except for the bullet. They took that out yesterday." McCormick turned his eyes to his shoulder. "You dislocated your shoulder and broke your collarbone. I figure that happened when they dumped you down the hill. Those bastards," Milt murmured loud enough for the kid to hear. The judge watched him closely as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. This time he kept them closed for a little longer, but Hardcastle knew the kid was still awake and listening to what he was saying. Milt kept talking. "Look, I can go over the whole list of injuries later--you don't need to hear all this now." Hardcastle sat back in the chair and closed his own eyes. McCormick slowly pushed his free hand through the railing and touched Hardcase's knee.

Hardcastle immediately opened his eyes and saw Mark's hand resting on his leg. He had two fingers laid open. "What? Two what? You need the nurse or the doctor?"

McCormick shook his head 'no'.

"What are you trying to tell me? We got the bad guys--they're in jail. There's no more danger. You know this can all wait, kiddo."

Mark softly tapped the two fingers against his leg another time, then closed his fist.

"I don't know what the hell you're trying to say," Milt said, looking at the kid's eyes. Mark's gaze was fixated backwards, to something behind him. "Should I get the nurse? Is something bothering you? You in pain? You need a doctor?"

Mark shook 'no' again, ever so slightly, and weakly tapped the two fingers and made a fist.

Hardcastle was more than frustrated. He glanced over at McCormick's face again. Mark was mouthing the letter 'O.' "Two-O? What the heck is 'two-O', McCormick?" Milt scrunched up his face. "I can't figure you out when you talk half the time, now I'm supposed to figure this out?" The judge could swear he saw McCormick trying to smile at that. "Two-O, hmmm, two-O," he kept repeating. "Twenty?" He finally got it. The smart aleck was asking him if he wanted to go for twenty in pulse rate. "You want to go for twenty, sport?" Hardcastle had to chuckle. "I'll be damned, there's tubes and monitor wires stuck everywhere on you and you want to go for $20?" As he looked over, he saw McCormick was grinning now even though he'd closed his eyes to rest. "$20 it is, wise guy!" He took his right hand and placed it over his left wrist, checking his own pulse rate and then looked behind McCormick to read his off the monitor. He dropped his hands in a feigned disgust. "Ok, I owe you $20, kiddo--now get some sleep, will ya?"

McCormick dropped off with a smile on his face.

OOOOO

The next seven hours were quiet ones. McCormick got his much needed rest and the judge napped by his bedside. Even though the nurses suggested that he go home himself, he stayed with the kid, knowing he was improving but still fearful of something going terribly wrong.

Mark woke up first, still drowsy, and took in a deep breath. Moving his head ever so slightly, he saw the judge snoozing in the chair beside his bed. The corners of his lips curled upward as he took comfort in having his friend close by. Hardcastle always let his actions speak louder than his words. McCormick knew already that Milt cared about him, and this just proved it all over again. The judge was probably gonna have a backache or a stiff neck from sleeping in a chair for who knew how long, but the young man was touched by his willingness to forgo comfort for friendship. Although, he'd bet the older man would grump about it later, pretending to have ruined his body instead of admitting to his 'sacrifice'.

Mark closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep for a few minutes, then woke up more fully. He could tell he had an oxygen cannula on because it was slightly irritating to his nose. It felt good just to breath though. He tried shifting ever so slightly and felt the resistance and jabs of pain at different spots on his body. His thoughts drifted to everything he could remember. He knew he was in the hospital and the last thing he remembered was winning $20 from Hardcase on a pulse check. Other bits and pieces started to come together, and finally he turned his head again toward his friend and softly called out, "Judge?" One effort was about all he could muster out of his tired and dry voice. He hoped it was enough to rouse the old man. Hardcastle's head was slowly moving up and down against his chest. Mark could hear him exhale-- it wasn't a full-fledged snore, but he knew that the jurist was sleeping. How long had he been there? McCormick wondered. He'd lost all sense of time, but he hoped it hadn't been too long. And then Hardcastle stirred, he must have heard him call out after all. The room was pretty dark except for a light that shone right above the headboard of the bed. It must be night, Mark thought. He kept looking toward the judge, hoping he'd wake up.

And it worked. Hardcastle blinked his eyes as he awoke, trying to figure out just where he was. "Huh?" he murmured and focused his gaze on McCormick lying in the hospital bed. Clearing his throat, he spoke, "Hey kiddo, you're awake, huh? Did you call me? You shouldn't be trying to talk yet--the nurses want you to stay quiet." Mark nodded ever so slightly. "How you feeling there?" Hardcastle lifted his arm and checked the time on his wristwatch. "This is a little early for you there sport, it's 5am. It's not like I'm out there shooting baskets under your bedroom window." Hardcastle took a good look at the young man and gave him a smile. "Welcome back to the land of the living," he added.

McCormick took a deep breath. "Can't sleep," he said his voice dry and quiet.

"Well, the doctors and the nurses say that's the best thing for you, lots of rest, you know? You've been out for nearly four days already. Are you in any pain? The docs said they can give you a shot for it--all you have to do is say the word. Want me to get a nurse?" Hardcastle had noticed the kid would suck in a breath and close his eyes, then shudder in pain.

"Water...throat dry," Mark tried to explain, trying to lift his left hand to his mouth but failing. Hardcastle could see the pain etched on his face.

"Sure, I'll get you something right away. Just sit tight there, kiddo, I'll be right back with some." Milt walked down to the nurse's station and saw Debbie writing on a chart.

"Hi, Judge--taking a break? How's Mark doing?" she greeted him.

He smiled politely. "Not exactly a break...Mark's awake again and talking, says his throat is dry. Can he have some water or something?"

"He's still listed as NPO—nothing by mouth--but I can get some ice chips for him," she said.

"That would be great," Milt replied as she came out from behind the nurse's counter and went across the hall to a little room. There was a refrigerator inside and she opened it up and took out a cupful of ice chips. She walked back to the judge and handed the cup to him, along with a plastic spoon.

"There's more where that came from. You're welcome to grab a cup anytime you need it for him," she explained.

"Thanks, Debbie," he said, walking back to Mark's room.

When Milt came back into the room, McCormick was still awake, looking straight ahead and taking deep, pain-filled breaths.

"I got some ice chips for you, kiddo," Milt said. McCormick didn't reply, and Hardcastle realized he was waiting for something to soothe his throat before he'd talk again. As he got closer to the young man, he realized just how pale McCormick was and how close to death he still seemed. He cleared his own throat and with a positive tone said, "Throat must be pretty raw, I bet." Milt scooped up a small amount of ice on the spoon and held it up to Mark's lips. "Okay, try this out," he said. Setting the cup on a nearby table, he sat back down in the chair.

McCormick sucked on the chips for a few moments and let the cool water slide down the back of his throat. "Better," Mark whispered. "Thanks."

"You want some more?" Milt asked, grabbing the cup and spoon again.

Mark shook his head. He was in no condition to do anything in any kind of a hurry. He tried to say something, but his voice cracked from dryness.

Hardcastle couldn't make out the words. "Hey listen, you don't need to talk, sport--just rest."

McCormick obliged and closed his eyes. Hardcastle leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath of his own, but before he could really relax, McCormick indicated that he wanted some more ice chips by lifting up his hand. Milt grabbed the cup and scooped some up, feeding them to Mark.

"You're being too...nice...am I gonna die?" McCormick asked him, managing to string a sentence together this time.

Hardcastle sat back in the chair again, "No, you're not gonna die, smart aleck. I already told you that. And I've always been nice to you--haven't you realized it yet after all these years?"

"Donkey," McCormick said and turned his lips up into a tiny smile. "Don't make me laugh, man...I can't."

Hardcastle didn't even wait for him to ask for more ice, he sat forward and gave him another spoonful. "Bet you'd rather have a pizza," Hardcastle said, and then quickly added, "And don't you answer that."

They both took a short break from talking, while Milt kept feeding the ice chips to Mark. After several minutes, Mark held up his left hand and motioned that he didn't want anymore. "Listen, the doctors here will get you all fixed up and then you'll be back at Gull's Way in no time. Like I said the other day, we can both use a vacation, huh? Maybe we can even get away and go fishing. How'd you like that? I bet I could get that little cabin of Harry's that you like so well. That was a great spot." Hardcastle felt good that he could just sit back and chat with McCormick. Maybe little by little things would get back to normal for both of them. And just as Hardcastle was thinking this, Mark cleared his throat and asked, "Judge...can you get the doctor?" His face was etched from a new wave of pain.

Hardcastle stood up immediately, "Sure, kiddo, what is it?" He saw a thin layer of sweat forming on Mark's forehead and noted with alarm that the paleness in his skin tone had returned, as if the blood had rushed out of his face. The judge felt his own heart rate increase with worry.

"My leg hurts bad. I just hurt all over," McCormick said with a strained voice. "I need something for the pain." Hardcastle could see how the kid's breathing had become more labored and that his muscles shuddered in agony.

"Sure, Mark--you just rest easy, let me go tell the nurse," Hardcastle said. "We'll get you fixed right up," he added soothingly, not knowing what else to say, but wanting to alleviate the kid's suffering in any way he could.

Mark already had closed his eyes in an effort to will himself into feeling better. He could see how the judge was reacting to the stress and felt bad that Hardcastle was taking this so personally. He didn't want Milt to see him like this, but it was unavoidable. He grimaced as another wave passed through him. It was the worst pain he'd ever felt. Breathing was painful, his leg was on fire, his right arm and shoulder burned, his head throbbed, his abdominal muscles where the bullet had lodged were tensed tightly, and any movement caused a sharp stabbing feeling. Beyond that, he felt like he had no strength—like all his energy had been zapped out of him. This was one time that, no matter how much comfort the judge was giving him, it wasn't really what he needed.

Hardcastle ran out to the nurse's desk. "Debbie, Mark's in some pain all of a sudden; he asked to see the doctor. Can you give him any medication?"

"Dr. Ashe is on his way in this morning, I'll page him and make sure he stops up here first," she replied, dialing up the hospital phone system and putting in the message, then turning to Hardcastle. "Let's go see if we can see what the problem is and get it fixed. I've got a standard order to give him something, so we can get him settled down right away." She gave him a smile and patted his arm.

McCormick watched as Debbie came into the room, followed by Hardcastle. He noticed that Milt stood off in the corner. Part of him probably did that out of fear and the other part because the judge knew that the nurse needed room to work and he didn't want to get in her way. Hardcastle always showed respect like that for people doing their job. Still, Mark could see the worry on the older man's face, and that made him concerned. The judge had been telling him he was on the road to recovery, but his body was saying something completely different.

"Mark, the judge says you're hurting. Can you tell me where?" the nurse asked.

"Leg mostly," Mark answered between clenched teeth, then he added, "but everywhere, honestly."

"Can you rate the pain on a scale of 1 – 10?" she asked him.

She noticed that he made a fist out of his left hand and tightened up his jaw before he answered. "Eight," he exhaled. Debbie could see just by looking at him that he wasn't exaggerating, and she'd seen critical patients go from being just fine to taking a turn for the worse in just seconds. She knew it was probably more like a ten.

Hardcastle heard his strained answer and shook his head in despair.

Debbie gave him a caring smile. "Okay, I see...let's take a quick look and see what we have," she answered, going around to the other side of his bed and checking on the various monitors and the IV's. "Just try to relax...you're doing just fine." Picking up the chart, she jotted some things down and hung it back on the end of the bed. She walked back to be in Mark's view. "I'll be right back with something for the pain, and Dr. Ashe will be here in less than an hour. You're doing really well, Mark, all your vitals are good. That's the truth, so don't worry." She reached out and warmly touched his arm again.

The comforting touch sure felt good and he let the words sink in, hoping that believing in them would bring him some small relief from the pain that shot through him. He closed his eyes and tried to forget how he felt.

"These nurses are great, aren't they, kiddo?" Hardcastle was now at his bedside. "That one is Debbie, and guess what? She's single and just getting over some lug that dumped her for a waitress. Can you believe that? She's a nurse, pulling down some good money, and the guy would rather date someone who slings hash." Then Milt lowered his voice and teased, "I think she's got a little thing for you going."

McCormick opened up his eyes and managed to smile. He knew exactly what Hardcase was doing, trying to get Mark's mind on something else. "She's cute," he admitted.

"We'll work on her--maybe we can get a date set up before you even leave the hospital. Being hurt has some perks after all, and women can't resist your curly hair," Milt smiled.

Mark didn't say anything else, but he slid his arm through the bed rail and reached up for Hardcastle's hand. Milt immediately grasped the fingers and felt the kid squeeze down hard.

"Just hold on, Mark, it's okay. You'll get through this--you got a lot of people who'll help you. The doctor's and the nurses here are the best. You're gonna be fine."

McCormick shuddered through the pain and responded, "I think..." he paused and took in a breath, "I'd even forgo having... a date with her...to not feel... like this." Hardcastle smiled his understanding and patted him softly on the shoulder. If the kid was willing to give up a night with a beautiful woman, then he must be feeling pretty terrible. "It's bad, Milt..." Mark said, exhaling hard, "...hurts." He grasped the judge's hand again. "I almost want to...let go."

"Hey now, come on, that's enough of that kind of talk," the jurist protested. "It's just a rough spot, sport. I know you can tough this out—you've got the right stuff inside you, kid."

"I know... it's just real bad, Judge," the young man gasped, trembling.

Debbie came back into the room with a syringe. "Okay, Mark--this is going to probably make you fall asleep or feel pretty dopey for awhile, but Dr. Ashe said that you can have this for the pain." She went over to where his IV bag hung and injected the morphine into the tubing. "It shouldn't take long to take effect. Just relax, close your eyes, and try to take some deep breaths." Mark did as she suggested. He let go of Hardcastle's hand and Milt stepped back from the hospital bed.

The nurse walked over to Milt and said in a low voice. "I gave him some morphine. He's going to be out of it for awhile. If he's conscious he'll probably say some things that don't make much sense, but it should help with the pain. I would imagine it is more like a 20 than a 10."

"Morphine, huh?" the jurist said. "That's pretty strong."

Debbie nodded. "With the extent of his injuries, Dr. Ashe thought it was the best choice. He's been given small doses because of the coma—it tends to lower the breathing rate. This was a booster dose. In his situation, it's not uncommon. We might have to keep him at this level for the next few days, till he starts to heal up a little more. It'll help him get through these tough spots. We'll keep watching him closely to see if he needs it. "

Milt scowled. "I hate seeing him go through this; he doesn't deserve it." His face became more tense and unhappy looking.

"You care about him very much?" Debbie said.

He dropped his head, "Like he's my own son. I've learned you don't need to share blood to care about someone. He's made me see that."

Debbie nodded her understanding and touched his arm with compassion. "We're all going to help him get through this. We're doing all we can to keep him comfortable, but you know what he's been through. It's just going to take time."

He gave her a half-hearted smile. "You're right, but I've been told 'patience is a virtue', and I don't seem to have any of it."

"Listen, Dr. Ashe will be here shortly, and Mark is going to probably be out of it for awhile. Why don't you take a little break?" Debbie suggested. She looked over to Mark and it already appeared that the morphine was taking effect. His muscles were relaxing and the drawn expression on his face was easing.

"I'll stick around till after Dr. Ashe comes through. I want to know what he thinks of the kid's condition." Hardcastle replied. "I'll just sit here until then."

"Okay, but remember, Mark may say some things that don't make any sense," she commented.

"That's nothing new for McCormick," Hardcastle teased as he moved back toward the bed. Debbie left the room, and he took a seat in the familiar chair. It appeared that Mark was sleeping, as his breathing had relaxed already and his face was peaceful. The nurses had brought in a few magazines for the judge to look at over the last several days. He hadn't been able to take his attention away from the kid enough to read them before, but he gave in now and relaxed a bit himself. He picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated and started reading a preview article of the NBA play-offs...most specifically, the Lakers' chances. He was in the midst of a wrap-up column on the NCAA play-offs when he heard Mark stirring in the bed and set the magazine down to glance over at his friend.

"Judge..." McCormick said sleepily, his eyes still closed.

Hardcastle was surprised that Mark knew he was there, even with his eyes closed. "Yeah, kiddo, I'm right here. Whaddya need?" Milt leaned forward in the chair.

"I don't wanna clean the gutters today, please, can I just sleep in? My leg really hurts bad and I got a stomach ache. I don't know what I did to it. Did you trip me on the basketball court?"

Hardcastle chuckled. Boy, the kid was really out of it. "Yeah, kid, you can sleep in. Just go back to sleep. Everything's all right."

McCormick turned his head and opened his eyes, seeing the judge sitting with the magazine. "Whaddya reading, Judge?"

Hardcastle glanced over at him and noticed that his eyes looked rather glassy. Must be the morphine, he thought, surprised that the kid asked him a lucid question. "Sports Illustrated," he replied, holding it up so the kid could see the cover.

"Can you get tickets to the play-offs for us?" Mark asked, noticing the picture of Magic Johnson.

"The Lakers need to make it into the play-offs first, sport," Milt said, and then added, "But I already got the tickets... just in case. Front row, right behind the Lakers bench."

"You got good connections, Judge." McCormick let out a dopey laugh. "I still don't want to clean the gutters today. I'm really tired and I don't know why."

"Just close your eyes and get some sleep, kid. I'll tell you all about it later."

McCormick appeared to do as he was told, but the restful sleep that Hardcastle hoped he would have was short-lived. The kid seemed to be hovering in some drug-induced dreamlike state.

Suddenly, Mark started to toss and turn, more restless than he'd been. "Oh, God, there's the string of lights," he began as he tossed his head from side to side. "Hardcastle? Where are you, Judge? We're supposed to meet out here in the pool house... where are you?"

The judge sat forward, not sure if he should try to wake the kid up or not. Mark's eyes were closed and this had the makings of a bad dream. He waited and watched.

"They got a gun... arrrghhhh!," Mark moaned. Then his eyes opened up, filled with fear. "Judge, they shot me! Where are you, Judge?" McCormick pleaded. Even though he appeared to be awake, he wasn't seeing anything in the room; he was reliving in his mind what he'd gone through at the hands of Falcon and Price.

Hardcastle could tell Mark was still dreaming--even though his eyes were open, they were glazed over and unable to focus. Still the kid's words haunted him. Hardcastle was hoping he didn't remember too much more.

"Judge... everything's going black. My gut hurts! I can tell I'm bleeding...I can feel it...oh, it's bad... hurts real bad..." McCormick moaned. "They're picking me up... I can't fight 'em. I can't even stand on my own. What is it?... Where am I?...Outside?... I feel the cold air. It's still dark. Falling down...rolling...hurts! Oh, God, I'm so tired. I'm trying to hang on, Judge... you and Millie gotta find me... you gotta find me, please, Judge! We shoulda listened to Millie...she was right... gotta find me now…" His voice trailed off and he seemed to fall back into sleep.

Hardcastle sat back in the chair and exhaled. He shook his head in despair and covered his right hand over his mouth. He never wanted any of this to happen.

Mark stirred again and started to whisper, "Judge, there's trees I think...lying in leaves. There's a road above...hear cars." He grimaced. "I'm still bleeding. Get Millie...she knows what happened...she can help find me. My leg hurts bad. My head's pounding... and my arm... it's numb...oh, God, you gotta find me. I can't stay...awake any more."

Hardcastle tried to comfort the young man, caressing his brow with his fingertips, "Shhh, McCormick, you're okay now. I found ya--just sleep... go to sleep... rest now. You're all right, boy," he murmured.

A smile washed over Mark's face. "Judge?"

"Yeah kiddo, I'm right here. You're gonna be okay--just rest now."

"I can sleep? I'm okay now?" Mark wanted to believe it to be true.

"Yeah, you're in the hospital, you're gonna be just fine...just relax," Milt urged.

The kid must have listened, because he quieted down and once again his face softened.

OOOOO

About a half hour later Dr. Ashe came in, putting Mark at the top spot of his rounds. Hardcastle stood up from the chair when the surgeon walked in with Debbie, as well as several residents.

"Good morning, Mr. Hardcastle," Dr. Ashe said, motioning him to sit back down. "How's he doing?"

"A little restless--he's been saying some crazy stuff," the judge said.

Dr. Ashe nodded and said to his residents, "A side effect of the morphine. This patient has been shot in the lower left quadrant of the abdomen. He's also got a broken collarbone and dislocated shoulder, and some swelling in his right leg, the MRI shows no breaks or fractures."

"He's been complaining about the pain in his leg," Milt commented.

"Yes, I see that's been noted on his chart," Dr. Ashe said. "Anyone have ideas?"

One of the residents was examining McCormick's right leg. "There seems to be a build-up of fluid around the knee. I think we should drain it and take another film."

"I concur, Dr. Rourke," Dr. Ashe said. "Let's move on to the next patient. Dr. Vehlee, you'll present."

Milt stood up as they started to exit. "Excuse me, Dr. Ashe, can I talk to you?"

"Certainly," he replied, and commented to the residents, "Carry on, I'll catch up." He faced the judge. "What is it, Mr. Hardcastle?"

"Well, how's McCormick?" Milt began, "I mean, I thought we'd turned the corner, but then all of a sudden he's in so much pain."

Dr. Ashe nodded his understanding. "Judge Hardcastle, Mark's going to have a lot of ups and downs during this recovery. His injuries were very severe. That's to be expected. He's doing remarkably well for the extent of injuries he sustained. I honestly didn't think he'd make it two days ago, but I'd say he's got a 90 chance now of a full recovery."

Hardcastle cleared his throat and ran his hand over his face. "You mean he could have some lasting problems?"

"Mr. Hardcastle, anytime you incur bullet wounds and broken bones, complications set in. He could end up with some painful arthritis in his shoulder and arm--maybe even his leg. It looks like he'll need some extensive physical therapy, and time will tell us what we need to watch out for as far as where the bullet damaged his insides. But he's healing up very nicely. He's obviously a very strong young man. He's made it through a very tough time already. I think he'll be in the ICU two or three more days, then we'll be able to move him to a general room. We might be able to send him home in ten days or so."

"Ten days?"

Dr. Ashe nodded, "It seems hard to believe, but the human body begins to recover very dramatically."

"He's still in so much pain."

"That's why I think we'll keep him up here for the next few days. We're watching for pain and infection. He's got a borderline fever right now too, which presents another set of unique problems."

Hardcastle shook his head in despair. "And he's already past the worst, huh?"

"Yes, he is." Dr. Ashe smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. "I think you could use some rest too. Honestly, he's out of the woods as far surviving the injuries he's got. The recovery will be painful though. You should prepare yourself for the care he'll need at home."

"Thank you, Doctor," Hardcastle said, feeling more relieved now that he knew what the future would hold.

OOOOO

Hardcastle hung around the ICU for about another half hour, but the kid was now sleeping deeply, so he decided to head home for a break of his own. As he walked out of the unit, Millie was there waiting for him.

"Judge, how's Mark?" she asked.

"He's going to make it, Millie--he's going to make it," he said happily, repeating the words to reinforce his belief in them.

Millie pulled him into a hug, which normally he'd resist with embarrassment but now accepted in appreciation of her care and concern. "I'm so glad I was wrong," she exclaimed. "And I'm sorry I caused you both to go through all this."

"You didn't cause it, Millie," the judge soothed. "It's no one's fault--it just happened. Mark and I both know how much you care about us."

Millie smiled. "When can I see him?"

"Oh, it'll still be a few days, they've got him sedated right now, he's really out of it. They're gonna keep him in ICU at least a couple more days. I'm gonna head home now and catch some rest for myself. The doctor said he's got a long road to recovery."

"Why don't I follow you home? I'll make you a good meal--it looks like you can use one."

"That'd be great."

OOOOO

Millie fixed him up a wonderful brunch and he was able to catch about five hours of sleep. Just as he was getting ready to head back to the hospital, Frank Harper showed up at Gull's Way.

"Hi, Milt. I stopped by the hospital, but the nurses said you decided to get some rest at home. I guess Mark's doing better then, huh?"

Milt nodded. "He's gonna pull through, Frank, but the doctor said he's got a tough road to get there. He might have some lasting effects from this, too."

"Has he been conscious?"

"Yes and no, most of the time he's not making much sense. They're giving him some heavy duty morphine for the pain."

"Has he said anything about Falcon and Price?" Frank asked.

"What is this? You need a statement? Frank, those two rotten excuses for men nearly killed him! They dumped his body and left him for dead. They admitted it, right?"

"Now they're trying to recant, Milt."

Hardcastle's blood was beginning to boil. "Listen, Frank, I don't have time to play these games right now. Those two are murderers-- they killed Charlie Clarkson, and they damn near killed McCormick. He'll give you a statement when he can, but right now you better keep those two locked up or be prepared to have a cell for me, cause I'll kill them myself if you let them out."

Frank nodded his understanding, "I've got no intention of letting them out, Milt. I just need Mark's statement. Did the doctor say when he might get out of the ICU?"

"Maybe a couple of days. Besides all the injuries, he's fighting off an infection now. I gotta get back there, Frank."

"Tell Mark we're all pulling for him."

OOOOO

Back at the hospital, McCormick's infection and fever had worsened and he was extremely restless. Even the morphine he was receiving wasn't having much of an effect to ease his pain or to give him much needed rest.

Amanda was behind the nurse's station when Milt returned. "Oh, Mr. Hardcastle, I'm glad you've returned," she exclaimed. "Mr. McCormick has been asking for you."

"Is he all right?" Hardcastle asked her.

"His fever has spiked," Amanda replied. " We've increased the antibiotic dosage and put on a cooling blanket to bring down his temperature. Dr. Ashe is monitoring his pain meds, but Mark's very agitated. We can't seem to get him to calm down and relax; he says he has to talk to you."

"I'll do what I can," Hardcastle said as he headed into Mark's room.

Mark was weakly tossing around and trembling, his eyes were closed and the peaceful look that had been on his face was replaced with a tense, pained look. Hardcastle moved in closer. "Hey there, kiddo, what's going on here?" he asked. "I heard you were asking for me."

McCormick opened up his eyes and shivered from the combination of the infection and pain. "Hardcase?"

"I'm right here, kid. Amanda says you wanted me...what do you need? You know you're supposed to be getting some rest. That's the best thing for you."

"I'm cold," Mark said, shivering again.

Hardcastle looked back to Amanda who stood nearby. "We'll take off the cold blanket for awhile," she said, coming closer and removing it. She covered him up with a regular blanket. Mark seemed to relax a little and attempt to cuddle up under it.

"They're trying to keep your temperature down, you got a bad infection now." Milt tried to explain to him. Mark seemed more lucid than he'd been, which Hardcastle took as a good sign. "How's that feel, kid? Any better now?" he asked.

"Bbbeetttter," McCormick stuttered. He lifted up his left arm to his chest and felt around. "Judge, where's my medal? Did I lose it? Maybe it's out on that cliffside!"

Hardcastle reached into the pocket of his jeans and fished out the familiar medal of St. Jude that McCormick always wore around his neck. "You didn't lose it, kiddo," he replied in a calming tone. " I got it right here. They wouldn't let you wear it during the surgery, so they gave it to me for safekeeping." He held it out for Mark to see. "I'm holding on to it just for you."

"Put it on me?" Mark asked him.

Amanda shook her head to Milt that she'd prefer that Mark not wear the jewelry just yet.

Hardcastle reached down and took McCormick's left hand, putting it in his palm. "Here you go, kid, just hold onto it for a while in your hand, and then I'll keep hanging onto it for you till you get out of the ICU. The doctors and nurses would rather not have you wearing it in here. We gotta follow the rules, you know."

Mark closed his fingers around the special treasure, then raised his hand and opened his grip to look at it.

He dropped his voice to a little bit louder than a whisper and repeated the prayer which had comforted him for many years. Milt nodded his understanding, bowed his head, and prayed silently for the healing of his friend.

McCormick squeezed the medal in his hand one more time and then opened up his hand, poised to give it back to Hardcastle. "I know you'll take good care of it. Thank you."

The judge let McCormick slide it into his palm. He closed his own fingers around it and kept it there, a comforting feeling coming to him as well from its presence. "You're going to be okay, kiddo," he commented.

"I know, but it still feels like I'm going to die right now," Mark replied.

"Listen, close your eyes and get some sleep. Really, kid, you gotta try."

"I'll do my best." Mark closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

OOOOO

Two days later, Mark's infection was finally under control and Dr. Ashe gave the order to have him moved out of the ICU and into a private room.

As the nurse and orderly were bringing him into the new room, the nurse asked him if he wanted to sit up for awhile.

Mark's face perked up and he nodded and answered, "Yeah, Tina, that'd be great." He hadn't seen the outside for forever it seemed. The sun was coming in warmly and abundantly through the window. It felt good on his skin.

"Okay, Mark, this is going to be just like getting you into the wheel chair was. Just relax and let us do all the work," she said. Mark nodded his understanding. His body still felt like mush, so he didn't think he'd be much help to them anyway. It had taken about ten minutes to get from the ICU bed to the wheelchair, even after the extra dose of pain medication they had administered, so now he braced himself for another long bout of discomfort as they moved him from chair to chair.

"I don't think that will be a problem--I'm already exhausted," he commented.

"If you prefer, we can put you in bed where you can rest, Mark," she said. "It's okay--you don't have to do it all in one day."

He shook his head at her suggestion. "No, really, I'm okay. It'll feel good to sit up for awhile...make me feel like I'm really on the mend."

He could feel the strain of the wound on his abdomen as they started to move him, as well as the soreness he felt from different parts of his body. He tried to put a little weight on his right leg, but he felt it give way underneath his weight and he latched on a little tighter to the orderly, Tony, who held him securely by his arm. "Easy going there, Mark--don't try to do anything. You're going have to work up to standing bit by bit," the man said. "That leg is pretty tender."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Mark said, trying to smile through the pain.

Tina kept telling him to relax and take deep breaths as they moved him into the chair. He could feel himself tighten up from the pain, and he literally bit the inside of his lip as the spasms flowed through his muscles. "You doing okay, Mark?" Tony asked him as they paused momentarily.

"Yeah," McCormick said with a strained voice. "Let's keep going."

"Okay, you're in the chair," Tina said. "We just need to straighten you up a little and try to make you as comfortable as possible. Does anything feel particularly painful or not situated just right?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Mark said with a mock sarcastic tone. "I think it'll be awhile before anything feels 'right' or not painful."

Just then Milt came walking in to the room. "Hey, here you are, Room 708." He came over to the window and beamed down at the young man. "Well, look at you, kiddo! Sitting upright...now that's a sight for sore eyes. It's about damn time you quit lying around." Tina and Tony were a little surprised at Hardcastle's brashness, but Mark winked at them and they relaxed around the older man. As they tucked in a blanket across Mark's lap, Milt pulled a chair over to sit opposite McCormick. The kid still had an IV and Dr. Ashe had insisted on the heart monitor for one more day. "How're you doing, Mark?" the nurse asked, plugging its leads in and checking the readouts to see that it was working properly.

McCormick took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and managed to nod. "Good enough," he said.

"How come I get the feeling you'd say 'good' to any question I'd ask?" Tina asked.

"Cause he needs to be a tough guy...right, kiddo?" Hardcastle tossed out, before Mark could answer for himself.

The nurse shook her head and smiled. "Okay, let's just make sure we've got everything working properly," she said, untangling the IV tubing and checking the drip. "Thanks, Tony," she said to the orderly, who was exiting the room. She signed something on the chart, then smiled at McCormick. "Okay, Mark, I'm going to leave now. I'll let you and Judge Hardcastle catch up on everything."

"Thanks, Tina," Mark said.

"Everything seems to be working properly," she said. "Here's the call button in case you need anything. I'll stop back in an hour and see how you're doing."

"Sounds good," McCormick replied.

Hardcastle held the door open for her as she left, and then he walked over to McCormick. "It is nice to see you sitting up, Mark," he said with a real sincerity. "And out of ICU--that's a very good thing. You should be happy."

Mark was still taking deep breaths, trying to relax himself. "Careful, Judge...someone might think you actually care about me."

"As long as that someone isn't you, wise guy, everything will be fine," Hardcastle answered back, glad he could kid with his friend for a change. It was good to fall back into their usual routine.

McCormick closed his eyes for a long pause and smiled and then said wryly, "Nah, Judge...don't worry about that happening. How could I ever make that mistake? Must be the drugs making me hallucinate."

Hardcastle couldn't help but smile. "So, how are you really feeling, kiddo?"

"Sore and tired and exhausted," Mark began, "but it sure feels good to be sitting up and to feel that sunshine outside," he added, waving his hand at the light that streamed in onto his face. "I guess I just have to take this one step at a time, right?... that is, figuratively speaking. I can't put any weight on that right leg just yet."

"You're right about that. Just do what the doctors and nurses tell you to do," Hardcastle replied.

"That's not gonna be a problem, believe me. There's not much I could do right now, anyway."

"Speaking of doctors, did you talk with Dr. Ashe yet today?"

"Not yet." Mark answered. "Tina said he'll stop by this afternoon; they want me to start therapy tomorrow so I can get up and moving again." He took his left hand and reached for his right knee, which was still bothering him. "Judge, can you help me lift up my right leg? It's still killing me."

"Sure, kid," Milt said, going over to the chair and pulling out the footrest.

"How about putting a pillow or two underneath?" McCormick requested, still trying to rub some feeling into the limb.

"You're gonna milk this for all it's worth, huh?" the judge asked, grabbing some pillows off the bed and putting them gently under Mark's right leg. "Making me your nursemaid?"

McCormick smiled mischievously, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Hardcase."

Milt sat on the corner of the bed. "You think you're up for a visitor or two?"

Mark let out a groan and a long exaggerated breath, "Maybe...why?"

"Frank still needs your statement for one thing," Hardcastle started, but as he glanced over at Mark's pained and tired face, he realized he wasn't really ready for a visitor. "But I can have him wait," the judge quickly added.

"No, no...I should do that. We gotta put those scum bags away, right?"

"Hey, when you're ready to do it, I'll have Frank come by. Everyone understands about what you're goin' through. Don't give it another thought. I can hold him off for another day or so; let's get you settled in here and rested up a little more."

"It was Price that did the shooting," Mark said. "I think they were planning on killing you too."

"Yep, he tried. Tried to run Millie and me off the road when were trying to find you," the judge answered. He added, "She wants to see you too."

Mark put his head down and let out a breath. "I'm not sure what to say to her. She called the whole thing, Judge. She knew it was gonna happen. All of it. I've spent a lot of time thinking about it. It's really scary, you know."

"Yeah, especially the part about you dying... which she was wrong about, I might add."

They both were quiet for a long moment. "Did you talk to her about it yet?" Mark asked.

"A little. And just to clear up some confusion about you dying, we think that part was her having a vision of me at Charlie Clarkson's funeral. She assumed it was your casket after she saw the image of you getting shot," Hardcastle explained. "She just saw things out of order, that's all."

"Has she had any more?" McCormick asked.

"You mean like you quitting being a smart aleck?" He looked over to McCormick who gave him a half-hearted grin. "Nah. If she has, she's not saying...and I think we're all better off that way."

Mark nodded and yawned. "Maybe tomorrow, Judge, would that be okay? I'm still kind of tired and stuff." He shifted his body in the chair a little; the pain was evident on his face and in his body language.

Milt nodded, "Sure, don't give it another thought. I'll keep everyone away, awhile longer." His expression became more concerned. "You know you shouldn't move around so much, kid. Just sit still--you might feel better."

"Thanks, Doc," McCormick said sarcastically. "I'm surprised I can feel anything at all. My head feels like it's swimming from all the pain meds I'm on, but it still hurts everywhere...even my little toes. I think being tossed down the cliff was more damaging than being shot." He touched the bruised cuts on his face and grimaced, then turned away to face the window.

The judge changed the subject, trying to lighten the mood. "You know Millie is going to be moving to San Antonio to live with her sister. I think this whole situation just made her want to get out of town; get a new start." McCormick didn't answer. Milt wasn't sure if he was listening or not, but he kept on talking anyway. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the kid's medallion. "The nurses said you could put this on now, now that you're out of the ICU." He held it out and waited for Mark to turn to see it and then reached it over to his left hand.

Mark grabbed it and quickly lifted it up and over his head and let it slide down on his chest. "Thanks for keeping it for me and giving it back." He paused for a moment, in thought. "I only lost it once before, but I got it back that time too. That's why I always wear it all the time now."

"Yeah, what happened?" Hardcastle asked.

"I used to take it off during gym class in high school...you know, all that running and sweating and taking showers. I kept it in my locker. And one day, after class, I got out of the shower and went back to the locker to get dressed, and it was gone."

Hardcastle wore a little smirk on his face, he knew the kid could spin a tale about his past. It was always a challenge to figure out exactly how much was fact and how much was fiction. "And...?"

"It took me two days to figure out who took it. I mean, at first I though it was one of my buddies just goofing off. But I knew they wouldn't have kept it for that long, cause it wasn't funny for that long."

"So what happened? A thug took it?" Milt asked.

"Yeah, you could have called him a thug, I guess. How many 6'10" fourteen year-olds do you know?"

Hardcastle started to disbelieve his story. "6'10" at fourteen, McCormick? You sure know how to tell a story. What was the name of this one?"

"Mickey Crowe," Mark answered without missing a beat.

"Your thug was named Mickey Crowe? Sounds like the kid who flips burgers down at the Cheesyland."

"Who's telling this story? I said his name was Mickey Crowe--why would I make that up?" McCormick asked.

"So how did you know it was Mickey that stole it?"

"'Cause I saw it hanging from his older brother's '64 Olds when he picked him up after school."

"Why do I feel like you're gonna tell me that you committed some sort of a crime in order to get that medal back?"

"Only if you think that picking the lock on the car and taking back my property was a crime."

"You really want me to answer that one?" the judge asked. "Just tell me you didn't take the car, too," he added.

There was a short moment of silence between the two men.

When the brief staredown finally ended, McCormick's lips turned up in a mischievous smile. "I left it in downtown Manhattan, and the only thing I took out of it was my medal. I thought the payback fit."

"Except the older brother didn't take your medal," Hardcastle said.

"No, but he didn't have a problem hanging it from his rear view mirror, did he? Listen, Judge, let's just agree to disagree on this one, okay?"

"This one?" Milt exclaimed. "We disagree a lot on this particular habit of yours."

"It's not a habit. I don't do it anymore."

Hardcastle looked over to McCormick again; the young man still stared out the window. "Judge, can you get the nurse?" he suddenly asked.

"Sure," Milt said, standing up. "What should I tell her?"

"I think I better get back into bed. I'm starting to hurt more."

Milt picked up the call button and asked for someone to come in. Tina quickly responded.

"Mark, how're you doing?" she asked him.

McCormick's face looked rather pale and a thin line of sweat was forming on his brow. "Little pain," he managed to say. He took in a deep breath.

"Where, all over or something specific?"

"Uh, sort of all over, I think. It just sort of came out of nowhere. My right knee...and my arm hurts a lot--this thing is too tight," he answered, indicating the restrictive wrapping. She noticed his body was tensed and his face showed his stress.

"Ok, Mark, we'll get you checked out here...just try to relax, okay?" She started to check over his vital signs as well as looking at the IV and the monitor leads attached to his chest. "His blood pressure is a little high," she commented. "We should get you back in bed." She went out to the doorway to signal to another nurse to come help. They worked quickly and had him back in the hospital bed in a matter of moments. Then Tina went back to checking vitals and asking him questions.

"How do you feel now, Mark? Better or worse or just the same?"

"About the same," he grimaced.

"What do you think it is?" Hardcastle asked, standing off to the side, but carefully watching everything and listening intently.

"Could be just a pain spell of some sort; it's normal after someone has surgery. Sometimes you just need to ride it out, but..." she began, and then turning to McCormick, "do you want me to see if the doctor wants to give you a morphine boost?"

"Can you loosen up this sling or take it off?" he asked, his voice now agitated. He started pulling at it with his left hand.

"Mark, we can't do that...we need to keep that shoulder immobilized." She grasped his left arm to stop his efforts and said to the other nurse, "why don't we see about a sedative?" The other nurse exited the room. "Judge, why don't you come over and talk to Mark for a little bit," Tina asked, hoping that maybe seeing his friend would help relax the young man while they worked toward a solution.

"Sure," Milt said, moving in closer. "I'm thinking of getting season tickets for the Lakers for next year...how's that sound, kiddo?"

"It sounds like a bribe you'd use on a 7-year old," McCormick snapped back. Even Hardcastle had to smile at that one.

"So you don't want to go to all the home games, huh?"

"If you're buying, sure I'll go," Mark said. He paused and changed the subject. "Are they going to give me something, Milt?" It was odd when he used Hardcastle's first name. He usually only said it when something was important or urgent. The judge was surprised that Mark actually was asking for the painkiller. The poor kid must be feeling miserable.

"They're working on it, kiddo--just hang on."

The second nurse came back in with some meds for his IV. "Doc said both," she told Tina, holding up the vials.

"Mark, we're going to give you something for the pain and something to help you relax a little." Tina explained. "It's gonna make you sleepy, okay?" Mark nodded his understanding. "Let's keep monitoring his vitals every ten minutes for the next hour...see if the blood pressure comes down," she commented to her colleague.

After the IV fluids had been adjusted, Hardcastle turned his attention back to McCormick and saw that his eyes were starting to droop.

"Judge...what happened?" Mark asked muzzily.

"Nothing, McCormick. Just relax and get some sleep."

"They gave me something, huh?" The young man yawned. "Feels better already."

"I'm glad," Hardcastle said, watching Mark fight to stay awake.

"I don't want to sleep...I want to go home. Can I go home?"

"Not just yet, sport, the doctors still want to keep an eye on you."

"Judge... why is this taking...so long?"

"Listen kiddo, you were hurt pretty badly. You have to give yourself some time, that's all."

"I'm... tired, Hardcase." Mark yawned again. "Can't stay...awake...gonna...sleep..."

"You do that, sport--that's the best thing for ya."

The nurses smiled at both men and left. Milt looked down at the bed with affection. Mark's face had softened and he seemed to be in peaceful rest. Hardcastle sat down in the nearby chair and started to wait all over again.

He rubbed his eyes thinking back over the last several weeks. First the crazy case, Millie seeing everything happening before it did, and then McCormick getting shot...and now all this hospital stuff. It was taking its toll on him as well, though he'd never admit to anyone. There was no other place he'd be except by the side of McCormick right now, making sure he was going to pull through. He couldn't help but wonder why bad things seemed to repeatedly happen to the kid. Maybe it was time for Milt to pull the plug on all this Lone Ranger stuff. It was going to take McCormick a long time to recover from this one. And Hardcastle wondered if he'd need some emotional help too after everything he'd gone through and what was to come.

OOOOO

Nearly twelve hours later, Mark woke up and turned his head to see Milt still sitting at his bedside. "Sorry about that, Judge. I guess I dozed off for a while."

"'A while'? You've been sleeping for about twelve hours, kiddo!" Hardcastle sat up a little straighter in the chair.

"Twelve hours? No, it can't be." McCormick strained to look out the window and saw that it was indeed dark outside. He let out a deep breath. "Oh, man...I'm really sorry, Judge. You've been sitting here the whole time?"

Hardcastle nodded. "Yes and no--I went and got something to eat. I was just about ready to go home for the night, before the nurses kick me out."

"Maybe I overdid it a little today, trying to sit up in that chair, huh?"

"That's what the doctor thinks, but you'll be all right...you just needed the rest."

"I'm getting tired of resting." Mark grumped. "But I guess I do feel better. The pain isn't so bad now as it was before. It just came out of nowhere. Was I telling you about stealing a car?"

"Yep. I think it was the delirium talking though, right?" Hardcastle smiled, not wanting to believe that the kid had stolen a car at fourteen. He changed the subject back to the present. "It's good to hear you feel better now, kiddo." He looked away from Mark's stare. "They say you're turning another corner, you know?"

"Like a race track, huh? There's lots of corners in this recovery." Mark took a close look at the older man and could see the worry and the tired look in his friend's face. "Judge...is something wrong with me? Something you're not telling me? I am gonna be all right...aren't I?"

Hardcastle's head snapped back to Mark's face. "Nothing's wrong with you, kiddo--everything's okay. All the doctors are pleased with your progress."

"What is it, then? Something's bothering you. I can see it on your face."

The judge lolled his head to one side. "You've been through a helluva thing here, kiddo. You almost died, you know? Several times, it was touch and go. It was pretty scary." Mark pursed his lips and gave an affirmative nod. Hardcastle continued on with his thoughts. "I'm just thinking...maybe we ought to put our little agreement out to rest. Maybe we've done enough. Time to move on, you know?"

"What?" McCormick's mouth fell open--he wanted to make sure he heard Hardcastle right. "Whaddya mean, Judge?"

"I mean this Lone Ranger thing--me putting you in harm's way. This is no way for you to live your life, kiddo. I must be crazy."

Mark shook his head in disagreement. "Judge come on, you know what you need? Some rest yourself. You should go home. You've been here day and night since all this happened. We don't need to talk about this now. Neither one of us is ready to have this discussion right now."

"Nah, I've been thinking a lot about it."

"See, that's your first problem. This isn't just your decision to make. We're in this thing 50-50. I get a vote in it, too--and I say it's not over."

"You need to take a look at yourself there in that bed and then tell me the same thing, McCormick."

"Aw, Judge, I don't need to see how bad I look. I know it's bad--I can feel it. But I also know I can't make a decision like this that's gonna affect my whole life just based on one bad day."

"'One bad day'?" Hardcastle's voiced cracked. "You know this wasn't the first time you got shot since we hooked up."

"I know--and I've been beat up and run down, thrown off a train, and all sorts of stuff... but, Judge, if this wasn't where I wanted to be, I wouldn't be here. You know that." He paused and added, "You're gonna just throw me out?"

"No, I'm not gonna throw you out--that's not what I mean. I just think maybe we should both find something a little less dangerous to do with our time." He glanced over to the kid, who was looking away. "Ah, McCormick, come on--you haven't wanted this from the first moment I suggested it to you. You've fought it tooth and nail. I coerced you into doing this—trading a jail term for servitude. That wasn't fair. The whole scheme was just crazy."

"So crazy it worked," McCormick said. "We need to do this stuff; it's important to both of us." He turned to face Hardcastle. "Milt, listen to me. Let's just give this some time. We don't need to make any rash decisions right now. Go home and get some sleep," Mark took a deep breath and yawned, "...cause that's what I'm gonna do."

Hardcastle glanced over at Mark's tired face. He knew it was a good idea not to go any farther with this topic at the present moment. The kid was in no condition to hear it or to fully understand the significance. He was still on a lot of pain medication. "Okay kiddo, let's shelve this talk for now."

Mark closed his eyes momentarily, but realized the judge wasn't going anywhere. "Hardcase, would you please go home?" he muttered.

Hardcastle chuckled and reluctantly stood up. "Okay, I'm going already. I'll see you in the morning. You rest easy, okay?"

McCormick nodded, "See ya in the morning. Just make it after you get at least eight hours of sleep and eat breakfast and read the morning paper."

"Any other orders?" the judge asked wryly.

"Yeah. Bring me a dozen chocolate cream filled donuts when you come tomorrow, will ya?" Mark grinned.

"Ha! I'll think about it, kiddo."

OOOOOO

The judge carried in the box of donuts under his arm, careful not to crush any of them as he strolled down the hall toward Mark's room. He wasn't surprised to see McCormick sitting up in the chair by the window once again. He was about to call out to him, but he noticed the kid's head was tipped back at a bit of an angle. As he got closer, Milt could see that his eyes were closed and he was in the midst of a cat-nap. He could hear the kid softly snoring. That brought a smile to his face. McCormick was getting better every day. Hardcastle set the box on the bed tray and was just about to leave a note when Mark woke up.

"Hey, Judge," he said, yawning. "I've been waiting for you to get here. It's after 11 already."

"Well...you told me to sleep in this morning, didn't you?" Milt grinned.

"Yeah, but it's nearly lunch time." Mark smiled back. "I'm glad you did-- you look better this morning."

"So do you, kiddo," Hardcastle said, sitting on the bed.

"I've already been at therapy. They stuck my leg in a whirlpool for about twenty minutes--it felt great."

"Maybe you should be back in bed now getting some rest. You don't want to overdo things again."

"I already learned the secret."

"Oh, yeah...what's that?"

"Taking cat-naps in the chair. Even though I'm sleeping, I still feel like I'm sitting up, so it's like killing two birds with one stone, you know?"

"Whatever you say, kid. That makes as much sense as your usual comments," Hardcastle teased.

"Are those the donuts?" Mark asked excitedly.

Hardcastle followed his eyes and turned to grab the box. "Yep, a dozen chocolate cream filled, just like you wanted. I even asked the nurse at the desk if you could have these and she said it was okay. I had to check, you know, if this was okay with your doctor." He walked the box over to Mark and set them in his lap.

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" Mark immediately opened up the box and plucked one of the powdered delights into his left hand. Chocolate cream oozed from the side of his mouth as he took a big bite.

"Are you gonna eat all twelve?" the judge asked.

Mark kept on chewing, finally swallowed and licked the powdered sugar from his lips. "Unless you want one." He shoved the rest of the first donut in his mouth and picked up a second.

"Hey, kiddo...take it slow," Hardcastle admonished, reaching over and grabbing one. "You know those will rot your gut, don't you, McCormick?"

"Sort of like a bullet wound, huh?" Mark grinned.

Hardcastle realized what he had said. "No, not like that at all. You didn't have any control over the bullet wound, but you can control the junk food you pour down your gullet."

"Judge, this is the first day I've been hungry in what... ten days now? Let me indulge myself, please." McCormick was on to his third donut and he didn't look like he was slowing down anytime soon. Hardcastle wore a look of uncertainty on his face. "Judge, look, they brought me cold oatmeal and a piece of burnt toast for breakfast. I can't live on that. I gotta do what I can to survive here, you know?"

Milt finished his donut and reached over for a second one. "These are pretty good," he said, getting a glare from McCormick. "Well, I did pay for them--I should be entitled to a couple."

"I talked to the Doc this morning," McCormick said, starting in on donut number four. "He said, maybe this time next week I can go home. Now that's something to look forward to."

"You shouldn't get too ahead of yourself. I mean you're obviously feeling better today, but kiddo, you did get shot and tossed down a hill, you know? It's gonna take time."

"I know, but nobody likes hospitals. I think I'd recover faster at home."

"That's fine, but I'm not playing your nursemaid, sport."

"The therapist thinks I'll be up on my feet before the week ends. I'll be able to take care of myself."

"Okay, look...let's slow down, you're going a mile a minute right now," Hardcastle protested. "Ease up on the sugar high," he nodded toward the donuts. "I promise we'll go home just as soon as the doctor signs you out."

McCormick grinned and took a breath just as he finished donut number five. "Do you think you can get me some milk? These are making me thirsty," he asked. The judge stood up from the bed and headed for the door, as Mark hollered after him, "...and maybe some napkins too--there's a lot of powdered sugar on these things."

OOOOOO

Three days later the therapist had Mark up and walking. McCormick was still favoring the right knee, but there were no broken bones or any severe tendon or ligament damage. The doctor concluded that it must have been deeply bruised during the fall down the hill, or even when McCormick had collapsed on it after being shot.

Mark was moving slowly down the hall with the therapist as Hardcastle came from the other direction.

"I'll be ready for gorilla basketball before too much longer, Judge." McCormick gave him a little wave with his left hand, followed by a full-bore grin as they met outside Mark's hospital room.

"You should take a little break, Mark. In about a half hour, get up and try the same walk again," the therapist said, waving goodbye to him.

"Sounds good, thanks, Mike," Mark said, going into his room and slowly maneuvering himself back into the bed.

Hardcastle followed him into the hospital room. "Not bad, kiddo, you're getting stronger every day."

"That's what's supposed to happen, Judge." McCormick leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

"How far did you two walk?" Hardcastle asked.

"All the way outside to that sitting garden," McCormick explained, trying to get comfortable.

"And you're supposed to do that again in another half an hour? Look at you--you're exhausted."

"No I'm not, I'm just resting. This is how I'm supposed to recover, Judge. Dr. Norman suggested during one of the therapies to think of myself as one of those finely tuned athletes training for the day I get to go home. Half of the race is in the mind." He rolled his head back against the pillows. "It's not that bad. Just let me catch a nap here and wake me up in about fifteen minutes. I'll be ready to go again. You can be my therapist for the next trip."

"Lucky me!"

It was about forty minutes later when the two of them started on their walking journey. The kid had fallen into a deep sleep and Milt didn't have the heart to wake him up. That wasn't a smart move on the part of Hardcastle, because when Mark did wake up he was irritated at the older man." I'm trying to get out of here, Judge! You're supposed to be helping me, not holding me back!"

"I'm holding you back because you were snoring?" Hardcastle asked.

"It was a cat-nap. I'm supposed to do that." McCormick let out a heavy breath. "I asked you to wake me up in fifteen minutes."

"I'm sorry, all right? I didn't know you were on a time table here."

"Well, now you know. Remember, think of me as an Olympic athlete. We gotta stay on schedule, Coach." They were at the elevator waiting for it to come. "How many times do I need to tell you that I just want to go home?" The two of them stepped into the empty elevator and rode it down to the main floor.

"I get it," Hardcastle said, "I won't let it happen again. You know you were much nicer when you were in a coma?"

Mark sighed as they got out and started to head to a doorway which would lead them to the outside garden. "Sorry. I hate hospitals, that's all. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

The judge nodded his understanding. The kid was improving by leaps and bounds, just like Dr. Ashe said he would. Between physical and emotional therapy, he was getting back to normal at a blistering pace. "Well you did take it out on me, but I deserved it because I should have done like you asked, so it's okay. I should have listened to Millie that night in the den; if I had, we wouldn't have to be having this conversation at all right now." McCormick didn't comment on the last statement, storing it away in his mind for the present. The two of them made their way over to a couple of chairs and sat down. Hardcastle checked his watch. "Well, how long do we stay out here before you can walk back upstairs?"

"You got somewhere else to go?" Mark asked, annoyed by the comment, and then added, "About another half hour." He watched two young blonde nurses walk by. "Or longer...it depends on the scenery."

"Hey, how come when you're yelling at me, you have an Olympic schedule to maintain, but when you're looking at pretty nurses, the schedule goes out the window?" Hardcastle asked.

"Think about that question, Judge. I'm sure you can figure out your own answer." McCormick contorted his head over his left shoulder to watch them fade from his view.

"Don't hurt yourself there, kiddo," the jurist laughed as he watched the kid strain to see the retreating women.

Mark turned back to face the older man. There was that awkward silence between them. "Judge, we need to talk about what we started the other day."

"Yeah, what's that? The Lakers?" Hardcastle was looking around the surroundings.

"No, not the Lakers. The conversation about you wanting to end our little agreement," Mark began.

Milt nodded, "Given the last few weeks or so... yeah, I am thinking about it."

"So it doesn't matter what I think? I mean, come on, Judge... we've been at this for over two years now, almost three. I thought I'd get some sort of say in a decision like this. It does affect my life too."

"Exactly," Milt said. "I couldn't agree more--it does affect your life. It affects your life so much that it put you in the hospital and you damn near died...or did you forget that already in-between the chocolate filled donuts, the Lakers tickets and the cute nurses? Your life is exactly what I'm thinking about."

"That's a cop-out, Judge."

"Why?"

"You didn't pull the plug when Weed Randall nearly killed you."

"Ah," Hardcastle tossed out his hands, "That was different."

McCormick interrupted, "Why? Because our roles were reversed? Because it was you who almost died?"

"You know, whether you realize it or not, kiddo, I think about your future. And I don't want to think about it in terms of pearly gates or the blazing furnace. You're too young for that sort of thing. I want to you to have the American Dream, you know? Not any of this."

Mark couldn't help but smile. "I think there was some sort of off-handed compliment in there, so thanks, but you do realize that everything you're going to say to me, I can easily turn around on you. You'll get your wings soon enough and yes, I know it'll be wings for you--you've never done anything wrong your whole life --but right now you need to stick around here and we both need to keep doing what we're doing. We're good at it."

"Kiddo, I don't want to argue about this. Why can't you ever just do what I ask? Try to understand--don't make me spell it out to you."

Another bout of silence echoed between them. "Milt, I know, I do understand. I was out there lying at the bottom of that hill, remember? And I was in the courtroom the day you got shot. We're both seeing the same thing. I know exactly how you feel. We can't let that stop us from doing what we know we have to do. Everything happens for a reason. If we're smart enough we figure it out; if not, well, sometimes that's not so bad either, 'cause stuff just happens. I need to do this, you need to do this...and it's not just about busting bad guys." Mark looked away and added, "and don't make me spell it out to you either."

"You know you're a real pain sometimes, McCormick?"

"You know how many times you've told me that, Hardcase?"

"That's 'cause it's true."

"Hey, how about going and getting us some food and bringing it out here. I'm starving."

"What about your schedule?" Hardcastle asked.

"Eh, it can wait another half hour or so," he remarked, seeing the two nurses come back carrying their lunches.

OOOOOO

The following Tuesday, Dr. Ashe finally wrote out Mark's release orders, and Hardcastle was waiting in the doorway as McCormick gathered up his belongings. The young man was more than ready to leave before the ink on the order was dry.

"Mark, remember...plenty of rest. You still have a ways to go yet. I really don't want you to overdo anything," the surgeon said.

"Doc, you forget I live with a judge. He won't let me do anything outside the instructions, I can promise you that. It'll actually be the same as being here, except the food will be better."

Dr. Ashe gave him a smile. "Therapy back here at the Outpatient Clinic three times a week at least for the next two weeks. Let the judge drive you over—I don't want you behind the wheel until they clear you."

Mark nodded his understanding, "You both know they had less rules in San Quentin than what I'm hearing right now, don't you?" 

"One last thing, Mark...if you have any problems at all, call up or come in. I want to know about it right away."

"Doc, you'll be the third one to know," McCormick grinned.

The doctor was confused. "What do you mean, the third?"

"Hardcase will know before I even do." Mark replied, shaking his head. "I don't know how he does it. It's uncanny. It's been that way for that last few years—some kind of vibes, maybe. I can't figure it out. So, like I said--you're third."

"I think I get it," Ashe assured him, smiling. "I'll take the bronze medal in the caring department. We all should be so lucky. See you in a couple of weeks." The doctor left the room.

McCormick started to lift up his overnight bag. "Let me get that," Hardcastle said. "You just concentrate on walking."

"Thanks, Judge." Mark gave him a grin.

"So, you finally ready to get out of here and go home, kiddo?" the jurist asked, reaching for the bag and putting an arm out behind the kid's back—just in case.

"More than you'll ever know, Hardcase." Mark started walking out to the hall.

Under his breath Hardcastle said, "I think we both feel the same way, kiddo."

And together they went home.


End file.
